


Reconstruction

by Balenae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff and Angst, Hanzo is not a people-person, M/M, Mission Fic, Post Alive, Post Recall, Slow Burn, So many missions, Team Dynamics, Violence, post dragons, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 77,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balenae/pseuds/Balenae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hanzo Shimada answers a call from an old Overwatch beacon, his desires to redeem himself and his brother's words about choosing a side ringing in his ears, the last thing he expected was a living memory from his days as the heir to a crime family. </p><p>But maybe they're both looking to move away from their mistakes.</p><p>Overwatch is born anew and in turn offers rebirth to those under its mantle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Prologues

**Author's Note:**

> So as much as I'm riding this McCree/Hanzo train with glee and reckless abandon I have to agree with the criticism that it makes NO FUCKING SENSE. I love the very literal East-meets-West aspect of it, and love me some thirty-some year old dudes getting friendly, as well as their clash of personalities, but I want it, selfishly, to make some sense.
> 
> So this takes a couple of times in their backstories they could've encountered one another, and then builds with it Post-Recall. Or that's the idea.
> 
> Also Jesus tapdancing Christ its been maybe nine years since I've posted anything? How the fuck do I HTML I am so sorry about the formatting.

When Hanzo Shimada first met Jesse McCree, he hadn’t been sure what to think.

This was his first trip across the Pacific, and his first impressions of the Western world were that it left much to be desired. The people he’d encountered thus far were rude, the food was strange and upset his stomach, and the American Southwest was so damn hot he almost couldn’t stand it. He only ever had to take short trips from climate controlled cars into heavily air conditioned buildings, but the walks in the open air may as well have been passing him through a working oven.

Each moment in the blazing sun left his skin perspiring, and if he so much as sat in front of a window too long any exposed skin took a red sheen and underneath his clothes he felt like he was being baked.

It was absolutely unbearable, and if this trip weren’t for business, going with his father to negotiate a contract, increase his experience with his family’s empire, he would be on the first flight back across the ocean.

So it was, striding into the five-star hotel from the traffic round outside, bodyguards at his back, security a barely-noticeable shadow around the premises, that he first encountered Jesse McCree.

The short walk already had him sweating under the collar of his expensive suit, and a few strands of his long, black hair had slipped loose of the ribbon it was bound back with that was just enough to make him look just on the neat side of disheveled.

As he walked through, a young man, perhaps about his age, it was so hard to tell with foreigners, glanced at him and grinned, snickering.

Hanzo, ordinarily, considered himself above rising to offense, especially in a strange place among strange people. It was easy to take offense to the wrong thing, and while attempting to negotiate a business contract, especially one as large and potentially lucrative as the deal that brought him here, it was easier to let little things slide over him like water and wind.  
Obviously, to larger offenses, it could be enough to call the whole thing off, but sometimes in business, it was better to let a personal offense go.

Hanzo was not in a good mood today.

He stopped, brown eyes narrowing at the no-doubt American man, who still regarded him with an almost infuriating little smirk. “Do I amuse you then?” He asked, his English perfect and proper, if accented, years of lessons paying off, words hard like stone.

“Sure do,” the other man drawled, looking at him from under a fringe of hair as brown as chocolate, his own accent loose like liquid, dressed in a suit that fit but looked antique, patina green, the suit jacket down to his thighs long and swept back with a gold brocade, an ochre and gold waistcoat and red tie around his neck. “Ya look about ten seconds from meltin’ to nothin’ out there.”

“Jesus, McCree, shut the fuck up,” One of his friends said, elbowing him, looking at Hanzo and his guards nervously.

The one who’d addressed him—this McCree—frowned at his companion and elbowed back, “Man, lay off, I’m just teasin’ ‘im.”

“Forgive Jesse, sir,” the second man said, “We’re sorry for any offense.” He elbowed this Jesse McCree who snorted.

“Yeah, alright, fine. Sorry then.”

Hanzo frowned, nodded once, and then went to continue on, hearing a “Come on Jesse, let’s go, fuck,” behind him as he departed.

If he took a little extra time to put himself back together in the bathroom after the handsome and infuriating American had teased him, then that was his own business. But he walked in a few minutes late for the contract negotiation.

This was an important contract for them, establishing a network for their arms overseas. The money it could bring in was huge, especially in a country with such easy gun laws. However to set up that market they would need to cut a deal with the distributers in power. The ‘Deadlock Gang’ was an unimpressive and underwhelming name for what was actually the largest network of arms dealers in the American West, Southwest, and into Mexico. Dealing with them would mean giving them a share of the profits to move the weapons to buyers, but it came with a network already in place, and his father, as much as he was a dreamer when it came to myths and stories, was nothing if not pragmatic when it came to his business.

His father glanced over as he and his entourage entered and smiled at him, eyes magnified to huge proportions behind his glasses, “Ah, Hanzo, welcome. We were just introducing ourselves.” He turned and addressed the representatives from the Deadlock gang in the room, “This is my son, Hanzo. He also represents the interests of the Shimada family. You will treat him with the same respect that you would treat me.”

“Understood, Mr. Shimada,” One of the Deadlock representatives drawled in a thick accent, his face smeared with burn scars, “Welcome, Hanzo. Lookin’ forward to doin’ business with ya.” And then as almost an afterthought, he bowed his head politely, form stiff and awkward. Hanzo nodded and bowed his head a touch politely as well, and behind him caught sight of the rest of the Deadlock representatives.

Jesse McCree grinned at him and winked.

Hanzo merely lifted his eyebrows in response.

Negotiations went smoothly, and soon a preliminary network was worked out for Shimada arms coming into the county, a small party between the two group to celebrate. Within the week Hanzo was gratefully back on a private jet back to Japan with his father.

He did not think of Jesse McCree again for many years.

\--

Prologue 2:

Today marked a dark milestone in the life of Hanzo Shimada. It was the tenth anniversary of his brother Genji’s death and Hanzo sat cross-legged atop a building looking to the main gate of the Shimada castle. He felt nothing in this moment. His soul was tired and weary. Within him, grief and regret warred with nostalgia and anger, and the soup of feeling left him tired, and no emotion pressed more strongly than others. He was sick of thinking and took a decisive sip from his hip flask.

He was not truly meditating in this moment, but rather waiting as he had been for most of the day. The sun was nearly finished setting, hard shafts of gold and rose scattering across the face of the buildings and the rich, ancient wood of his ancestral home. Over the wall he saw the pink and white flicker of the sakura blossoms in full bloom, and the air was fragrant with their sweet perfume.

Night was coming, but it would be some hours yet before he moved, before he risked coming out and scaling the walls. Overwatch had made their move years ago, and had slowly torn the Shimada’s crime empire apart limb by limb. Now the castle was nearly empty from what it once was, though there was still a skeleton crew of security in the old home. He could not stroll in uninvited.

Atop the smell of the light flowers, there was the salty savory smell coming from the Rikumaru across the street. The ramen shop had been a favorite as a boy, and he and Genji had ducked their bodyguards and snuck over the walls countless times over the years for a taste of the delicious noodle soup and to spend hours in the arcade. Their kitchens could give them ramen made from the most expensive ingredients any hour of any day had they wanted it, but it had never been quite the same. Ms. Noriko, who ran the Rikimaru, always somehow made the best, even with cheaper ingredients.

Hanzo caught himself with a faint smile on his face at the fond memories just as he heard a commotion from the street below and shifted forward to look over the railing at the street below.

A man in black was screaming in the doorway of the little shop, and even from his vantage Hanzo could see the gun clearly, see the tremors in the man’s body as he screamed, demanding money. With an arm that unsteady, the weapon would be as likely to fire accidentally as not. Slowly, Hanzo reached for his Storm Bow, keeping a careful eye on the robbery-in-progress.

He nocked an arrow, and was lifting it to find his sights when a single shot rang out and for one heart-stopping instant he thought the criminal had fired.

The robber in black cried out in pain and toppled backward, his gun flying from his grasp, hand gushing blood—shot out of his hand, Hanzo realized—and writhed on the floor for a second, sobbing grossly in agony. Hanzo could see at least one finger on the ground.

There was a faint jingling like keys and some strange foreigner stepped from within the Rikimaru, a heavy pistol in his hand, leveled at the man on the ground, a thin stream of smoke still steaming from the barrel, a twin stream filtering up from a cigar in his mouth. Hanzo had never seen anything like him before, a broad brown hat obscured his face, the slightest feather of facial hair peeking out, his shoulders draped in a strange red-orange cape. He saw Ms. Noriko watching fearfully from just inside the door, unharmed.

Hanzo lowered his bow, watching.

The foreigner said something in English, though Hanzo could not discern what, and dropped one heavy, booted foot hard on the center of the man’s chest, pistol leveled at his head.

He held his breath without thinking, watching what would happen.

The robber on the ground babbled and there was a second hard shot, but instead of his head popping like a ripe tomato there was a pock that chipped out in the pavement. Hanzo didn’t believe for a second that it wasn’t intentional, and a yellow pool seeped out from the man’s crotch.

The foreigner stomped on the man’s sternum and moved off as he writhed in pain, and then kicked him in the side, shouting to Get Lost.

Woozy with pain, the robber lurched to his feet and scrambled down the ally, bleeding and no-doubt stinking of urine.

The stranger in the red wrap tipped his hat to Ms. Noriko, and left promptly, the strange jingle following him. Hanzo watched him travel down the street till passed the gates of his family’s house where he strangely paused. He turned to look at the carved dragon crest on the gate for a long moment, and Hanzo wondered about readying his bow again, not sure what the man’s intentions were.

But the foreigner’s shoulders slumped and he continued on, Hanzo watching until he turned a corner and disappeared. He debated for a moment following the foreigner or finishing the burglar, but night was falling now, and soon enough he could risk the trip over the wall and into the shrine where his old sword was kept, the calligraphic tapestry still cut and covered in his brother’s blood.


	2. Gibraltar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not just any gorilla. A gorilla in a rocket suit.
> 
> And glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just finished writing chapter four, and to give myself some wiggle room, I'm going to shoot for updating once a week OR whenever I finish another chapter, so possibly sooner. I know, so specific.

(Present Day)  
Hanzo had never been to Spain before. He’d traveled into some Eastern European countries: through Azerbaijan, Armenia, and into Turkey, and stopped over briefly in Cyprus, but had never been so far West. He did love watching the Mediterranean Sea, blue and peaceful, it felt as old and timeless as his homeland. Beyond age and change. 

He had never been to Great Britain before either, and he supposed that for all he’d had to cross over from Spain, Gibraltar counted as Britain more so. 

He’d snuck in, crossing the line where police and customs separated it from Spain in the dead of night, unnoticed and undeterred. Getting through the airfield directly south of the Police line had been a touch more challenging, but beyond that his way was largely clear as he’d made his way the scant four kilometers south to the abandoned Overwatch base. 

It was a strange place to be called to, the military group being disbanded for years now, but far and above was not the oddest place he’d gone chasing redemption.

Suspicion came with him like an old friend, but Hanzo was strong, and trusted his bow and his aim enough that often he found it worth the risk to investigate offers and claims such as the one that led him here. Sometimes he’d been pleasantly surprised. Others he’d gotten to exercise his expertise with the mechabow. He was no stranger to assassins attempting to lure him in.

Dawn was a pale thought on the horizon as he slipped into the borders of the defunct base, the world around him growing faintly lighter in these early hours of the morning. The shadows around him growing longer and the objects more undefined in the passing twilight. 

As a general rule Hanzo rarely approached anyplace that might be a risk factor straight away. He climbed a tower and slunk across a catwalk, keeping low, his eyes searching for movement. Finding none he found himself a secure location overlooking what looked like a cargo entrance built right into the rock face and sat to wait. Should there be any guard patrols or people coming or leaving, he would be able to spot them from here and have no fear of them being able to do the same. 

Hanzo’s patience was nearly without end. He remembered training as a boy sometimes when he found himself like this, thinking back when his teachers would make him wait hours before he would even see his target, learning patience and prolonged focus. 

He’d hated it as a boy, but it served him well now.

As so much of his childhood lessons did. Though he’d certainly not trained with a bow till he took it upon himself later in life. After—

After. 

Hours passed, the sun becoming a line of gold over the sea, and he didn’t see a soul, the abandoned base looking, for all intents and purposes, as though it really were abandoned. If this were an ambush then they were more clever than most. If it really was an offer made in good faith, then they were likely just inside, waiting. 

At this point the only way to know for sure would be to get in there. 

He clambered down the side of the building, the slight suction created in the toe and heel of his boot as it electronically detected the gradient of the surface stepped upon keeping his balance even. He didn’t need the help, but they helped him conserve energy, something useful when he could wander into a fight at any moment.

His Storm Bow came off his shoulder, one scatter arrow nocked into place as he sidled up to the cargo door. There was an electronic panel built into the stone face, and Hanzo had been given the code to unlock it. 

He took a slow breath, the sea air filling his lungs and reached out to type it in. The panel chirped a soft electronic blip and the light flipped from red to yellow as the door hissed and slid open, only blinking green once it had finished retracting. 

Slowly, wary, Hanzo stepped inside, eyes darting around, searching for adversaries and risk. 

A few holographic display glowed the well-known Overwatch-orange, others blinking with soft ambient light in sleep mode. Computer servers lined the walls, and there was a stairway up to a loft area he couldn’t see.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow at the huge tire suspended from the ceiling and the near-junkyard of electronic scrap heaped here and there. 

There was not a soul around. 

This was not what he expected.

Without warning there was a loud and gusty yawn from the loft and Hanzo raised his bow in a flash, eyes locking on the truly hulking shape shifting about up there, silhouetted in the light of a large computer monitor. 

“Oh! You must be Hanzo! I wasn’t expecting you at quite this hour!” 

Hanzo’s eyebrows slowly scaled his forehead as the huge shape of a gorilla clambered off the loft and down the suspended tire onto the first floor. Not just any gorilla. A gorilla in a rocket suit.

And glasses.

Hanzo had heard of the Horizon Lunar Colony tragedy, overrun with the gorillas they’d been testing, and the subsequent arrival of Winston at Overwatch—who hadn’t heard of the 550 pound genius ape?—but had never really thought much past how _preposterous_ it sounded. Much less expected to meet him. 

“I’m right aren’t I? Hanzo Shimada?” Winston smiled, the expression friendly and guileless, and almost alarmingly human. “I worked with your brother Genji several times. He was a fine operative.”

Hanzo bristled, the memories of their clash at Shimada castle in the spring still a touch too fresh, too sore. “I had not known until recently that he worked with Overwatch. Or was even alive.”

“…Ah,” Winston faltered, awkward, clearly not having known any of this. 

“…Here.” He tossed an old Overwatch comm, the beacon lit and blinking, “I assume it was he who told you to contact me?”

Winston nodded slowly, “He was. He is otherwise occupied and could not answer the recall immediately, but seemed to think that you would be a good addition.”

Hanzo said nothing.

“Well, welcome to Watchpoint Gibraltar. I’m glad you could make it. I’m Winston,” He bowed his head politely in greeting, the movement natural and easy, and Hanzo did the same in respect to the Master of this house, such as it was.

“Thank you for the invitation. Your offer was… intriguing. I didn’t quite believe it was genuine at first. I hope to be proven wrong.”

Winston didn’t seem to take any offense and nodded with excitement, “You won’t be disappointed. It’s likely that the others are still sleeping since it’s…” He checked a watch built into the arm of the suit, “Goodness, five thirty in the morning. But you’re welcome to rest a bit. Once they start waking we can have breakfast and I’ll explain everything. Is that alright?”

Hanzo frowned a bit, not sure he liked the delay but nodded slowly. He had sharp instincts, and didn’t think Winston was lying. Though that could be because he’d never tried to read a gorilla. “That is acceptable.”

Winston beamed and offered him use of a barrack bed left from the days when this place had been full of Overwatch operatives, but Hanzo declined, instead situating himself on a bench against the wall. It was not comfortable precisely, but he could watch the whole room and the door and could not be surprised from behind. Until he was sure of this, it would do.

\--  
The first stirrings of other occupants came some two hours later. Winston, awake, had begun tinkering at a table, speaking quietly to the electronic voice of an AI. But at almost 7:30am local time, precisely, a blue whirr flickered into the room. Hanzo jerked for his bow, surprised, before he realized the blue streak had materialized into a long-limbed, gangly girl who seemed to be hugging the huge ape.

“Morning Winston!” She chirped and Hanzo relaxed, watching.

“As energetic as usual, I see,” Winston replied, humor heavy in his voice.

The girl giggled and patted his shoulder, “No time to slouch, luv! We’re expectin’ our last teammate today, yeah?”

“We were, but he appeared early this morning,” Winston turned and pointed him out against the wall. 

The girl gasped, whirling to find him, her eyes getting comically wide behind a pair of extremely yellow goggles. “Well lookit you!” There was a blue pulse and Hanzo suddenly found her nearly on top of him, looking down with a wild, excited grin, “Lena Oxton, Callsign: Tracer! A pleasure!” She extended a hand boldly at him, but Hanzo couldn’t find it within himself to be offended by such genuine enthusiasm.

He did wish she’d be overwhelming excited a little bit further away though. “Shimada, Hanzo,” He allowed and took her hand in a firm shake. 

“You’re so cool!” She bubbled, all good cheer, “With that tattoo and get-up, you’re like some sort of real samurai!”

Hanzo raised one feathered eyebrow at her, “…Ninja, actually.”

Tracer actually _squealed_ with excitement and her grin seemed to grow tenfold, “That’s amazin’!” She turned to Winston, “Where on earth didja find a _ninja_ , Winston?”

Winston chuckled and adjusted his glasses, “Why don’t you start breakfast. The others will be up soon.”

“Great idea, luv!” She chirped and in a blue flicker she was gone as suddenly as she arrived. 

Winston grinned at him, “Sorry about that. Tracer is pretty much always that excited. Still, she makes a _fantastic_ full English breakfast.” 

\--  
Winston hadn’t been lying. Eventually the gorilla followed the smell of something delicious out of the main room and down the hall to the kitchens (Hanzo following _him_ ), and Tracer was whipping around the kitchen at light speed, keeping at least seven different foods cooking. There was already bacon draining on a towel and a truly astonishing tower of toast, and Hanzo spotted potatoes frying, tomatoes grilling, patty and link sausages, more bacon, and an alarming and impressive vat of scrambled eggs. 

An industrial sized coffee makers was burbling away in the corner, which was where Winston headed first. The toaster popped and tracer snagged it right out of the air to toss it on top of the pile.

Hanzo was more interested in the stranger sitting at the long metal table though. A muscular young black man, long dreadlocks bound back into a wild tail sat nursing a large cup of coffee that was nearly white with cream, head bobbing a bit to a headset. 

Apparently they weren’t the only ones lured out with the smell of Tracer’s cooking. 

“Winston, I find your lack of black pudding appalling,” she scolded brightly, “How on earth are we supposed to have a full, proper breakfast without black pudding?”

“Girl, you can keep that blood stuff to yourself,” The strange man said, clearly rousing from the groggy early morning stupor himself, “That’s nasty.”

“You bite your tongue!” Tracer said, laughing, “This is British soil! We won’t take that kind of blaspheming.”

“Hanzo, this is Lúcio,” Winston introduced, completely bypassing the friendly argument, “Lúcio, this is Shimada, Hanzo.”

The younger man jumped a bit and looked behind him, eyes widening, “Oh snap. Didn’t even see ya there. Sorry, get lost in it a little,” he gestured to his headset.

“It is no problem,” Hanzo allowed easily, frowning, “Are you not that music icon?”

Tracer giggled and started taking all the cooking off the stove and depositing it onto platters and bowls, “We’d asked Lúcio for a little bit of coverage, to increase public awareness. Didn’t expect him to actually show up!”

Lúcio grinned, white teeth flashing, “You want somethin’ done right, gotta do it yourself, ya know? ‘Sides, seemed like a good cause, and I do love to get behind a good cause.”

Hanzo nodded, warming slowly. Though he didn’t not necessarily appreciate the music the young icon created, he’d seemed like a genuine sort from the media coverage Hanzo had seen as he traipsed across the world. So far all three of them did. With every passing hour, it felt less and less like a trap, and Hanzo allowed himself to consider the idea that this would pay off. 

“I can certainly appreciate that sentiment,” he said, and took a careful seat. “Are there really so many of you here that so much food is required?”

Tracer laughed and Lúcio grinned as though he’d made a joke, and Winston chuckled before explaining, “Just two others. But this much food is pretty much necessary. You’ll meet them soon.” Hanzo became aware of a dull, heavy thumping coming down the hall towards them. “Very soon.”

The door slid open to reveal what was probably the biggest man Hanzo had ever seen, his eyes slid up and up over the towering bulk of a man that had to give Winston a run for his money in size. He must’ve been nearly two and a quarter meters tall. 

“Good morning my friends!” He boomed, his face scarred and weathered but his one working eye bright and enthusiastic. “Another glorious day!” He sat heavily at the table, the whole thing shaking, and Lúcio grinned broadly at him.

“Yo, Reinhardt, keep it down would ya?” The words were without heat. “Some of us don’t have an off and on switch like you and we gotta warm up in the morning, ya know?”

He laughed a deep, booming laugh, head falling back silver hair sweeping with the motion, “But today is grand and there is such a lovely breakfast waiting! Why not be excited?”

“No stoppin’ him now,” Lúcio grinned and elbowed the giant.

“And who is this new gentleman?” this ‘Reinhardt’ asked, looking over Hanzo. 

“Shimada, Hanzo,” he’s the last of our team, for now,” Winson explained, sitting with his own cup of coffee.

“Welcome, my new friend!” Reinhardt boomed, smacking Hanzo a little too strong in the shoulder, “We are here to do great things!”

Hanzo rubbed his shoulder, Lúcio snickering at him, “I am sure we are,” he looked at Winson, “You said there was one more here, is that right?”

“Alright, eat up!” Tracer chirped, setting everything out for them, platters, plates, and silverware all lightning fast. Reinhardt served himself quite a large amount of food, and Hanzo understood the need for the volume. 

“There is,” Winston said, “He should be up soon.”

Tracer giggled and flashed into her own seat, “He ain’t much of a morning person though, yeah?”

“Understatement, girl,” Lúcio said, serving himself a heap of food, “Dude is worse than _me_ and that is sayin’ something.”

“’Dude’ can also hear ya’, Partner,” a low, syrupy drawl came from the door and Hanzo turned, eyes widening as he took in the man standing there, memory flashing at the sight of the red cape about his shoulders and leather, broad-brimmed hat on his head—the man from the Rikumaru years ago—but Hanzo recognized those liquid brown eyes, cholate hair, and easy, smug smile. 

“Ah, good, everyone’s up!” Winston said, “This is—“

“You are Jesse McCree,” Hanzo interrupted him, watching the last arrival. 

McCree’s smile stretched, eyes pinned on him, “You remember me then? Been quite awhile, Mr. Shimada.”

“Just Hanzo, if you please,” he corrected, “I am no longer a part of that world.”

To his surprise, McCree nodded with approval, brown eyes smiling, “Yer not the only one, Partner.”

“I see,” Hanzo allowed, not sure what to make of this. 

“Oh good! You know each other,” Winston was clearly excited for this turn of events. 

“Ah! New and old friends! Marvelous!” Reinhardt exulted, “Tracer, I love this sausage!”

\--  
Hanzo found his eyes straying to the form of McCree through breakfast, a touch of suspicion hardening him again. If what the American said was to be believed then he had also left a life attached to crime behind him years ago, but it set him on edge to see this living breathing reminder of the place from which he’d come. 

But the offer he’d gotten that lured him here and the seemingly genuine nature of the others kept him seated through breakfast, waiting till the meal was finished and they could all speak and he could judge for himself. 

He would just have to wait and see about Jesse McCree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of maybe adding in some 76/Reaper for later chapters, since its early enough in writing that I can change things. I hadn't been planning on adding Reaper, still not planning on writing in Widowmaker, as unfucking that clusterfuck of angst was not something I really wanted to wrestle with. But I thought of an angle to go at with Reaper, so if people want to see it I'll write it in. Probably a little less angsty than they normally get because I am a puss when it comes to that sad shit.
> 
> Also if I figure out how to embed pictures there might be some illustrations accompanying this mess of a thing, but HTML is an elusive magical creature.


	3. Departures and Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re a fuckin’ ninja, Partner, no way you can tell me you never done anything nuts before.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just finished writing Chapter 6 today, so you guys get Chapter 2! Happy Monday!

“So why call me here?” Hanzo said, after they sat down at the mission table in the operations room, all except Winston who hung suspended from the tire. “I was never part of Overwatch, when the group still functioned.”

“Me either, man, but I think it would’ve been cool to be,” Lúcio said, “They did a lot of good, ya know?”

“We did, at first,” Winston said smiling before his expression sobered, “Until we were torn apart by the negative view of the world and our own infighting. It was not a proud way to end the legacy of good we’d built.”

“Ah, the good old days,” Reinhardt mourned. 

Hanzo nodded, understanding, “Overwatch did not see its conclusion with honor, an honor you would see restored, then?”

“That’s exactly it, luv!” Tracer said, bouncing in her seat.

“I called you five in as something of an experiment,” Winston admitted, “A mix of proud former agents and newcomers potentially willing to support the cause. I want to see if we can bring back Overwatch as a force for good in the world.” He reached down with one long arm and keyed in a command, “Athena if you would?” a globe appeared in the Overwatch-orange holographic display, dozens of blinking points over its surface. “I activated the recall on all the old Overwatch Agent beacons. Many have responded, some remain on standby, and others still have stayed dark for whatever reason.”

“If this works, we work, we could really start rebuilding!” Tracer bubbled, and Hanzo was momentarily grateful he hadn’t seen her drink any coffee.

“That’s right,” Winston nodded and keyed in another command, “So much has gone wrong, so much we could help with.” 

Images of slums in Rio de Janeiro and elsewhere around the world popped up—Europe, China, India— the Vishkar logo on everything, personnel and automated omnic robots patrolling the streets, people working in harsh conditions, “Corporate control,” Lúcio murmured sadly.

Street fighting and local abuse littered the second set of images and Reinhardt bristled, angrily spitting out, “Gang warfrare.”

The next was a sparse few images but they were perhaps more powerful for it, as several leaders propagating change and acceptance lay dead, Tekhartha Mondatta’s glittering form laying still half out of his limo, his escorts standing by helplessly, “Assassination,” Tracer whispered, subdued and forlorn, the wild energy sapped right out of her. 

The next series of pictures showed raided arms depots and several dead former Overwatch agents. To Hanzo’s surprise it was McCree’s voice that growled, “Talon Mercs.”

Winston nodded, “Talon raided this place a few weeks ago, attempting to get information on the former agents of Overwatch. This, more than anything, tells me that the world needs us again. That together we can do more good than we ever could on our own. Overwatch came together for a reason, and that reason exists as strongly now as it did years ago.”

“There is the little matter of the Petras Act,” McCree pointed out, hand twitching a bit at his side. 

“Hell with that damn law!” Reinhardt shouted, heavy fist slamming on the table and swore something guttural in German.

Winston nodded emphatically, “The Petras Act is outdated, and fear of it shouldn’t stop us from doing the right thing. Now,” he looked at them all, focused, driven, “Are you with me?”

A chorus of affirmatives echoed round the table and Hanzo found himself nodding. No wonder Genji had served with these people for a time. If he wanted to redeem himself for his past wrongdoing, the crimes of his family and his own against his brother, this was perhaps the best place to do so. Genji had wanted him to pick a side, and perhaps that was best done with the younger Shimada’s former comrades. 

“Yes,” Hanzo said aloud, “I am with you.”

\--  
If Hanzo had thought getting into Gibraltar was a challenge then getting out was an adventure. After all he hadn’t snuck in with a giant, a music icon, and a _gorilla_.

Fortunately they split up into three pairs of two to make it a little easier, Tracer departing with Winston, as she might be able to more easily sneak him places, and he could repair her chronal accelerator should her hardware suffer malfunction. 

Lúcio went with Reinhardt, the young man’s fame perhaps easing the way for the over-obvious German where the knight may have before had difficulty.

This meant that Hanzo was to travel with McCree. He hadn’t decided if that was good or bad yet. 

The plan was to separate and meet up again in three days in India in Madurai, which was, as McCree had said ‘within spittin’ distance’ of the Vishkar Corporation’s headquarters in Utopaea, India. The corporation’s influence was everywhere, and as they’d gone over the intel, Lúcio had said, voice tight, that it was like seeing what happened in Rio de Janeiro gone rampant. Vishkar influence was heavy here, but not all for the good of mankind. The young Brazilian had been firm on that point. For their ideal about the good of mankind, not everyone else’s.

“Think Lúcio’s gonna have some kinda plan,” McCree said as he hurried through a busy transportation hub. Everything was pristine and white, and Hanzo stuck out like a misfired arrow embedded in a wall. McCree had stowed his hat and cape (called a ‘serape’ Hanzo had been told), and blended a touch better, but he hadn’t removed his breastplate and compounded with the mechanical prosthetic arm he was still rather noticeable himself. “Kid didn’t say anything ‘fore we split, but way I’ve heard he’s had run-ins with the Vishkar guys before. He’ll know what we can do to help and how to do it.”

“I am unused to following the whims of another,” Hanzo said after a moment’s hesitation, not sure it was a good idea to let this slip to McCree, but also not wanting his reticence to be misunderstood for mistrust. At least in favor of Lúcio. McCree he was still making up his mind about.

The cowboy laughed loudly, drawing more stares, and turned to face Hanzo as they walked, a rakish grin twisting his expressive mouth, “Oh man, are you in fer a treat today then. Because us getting’ there? All about my whims.”

“That is not comforting.”

“Ain’t meant to be, sweetheart, but we’ll be fine.”

Hanzo sputtered, a flush equal parts anger and embarrassment suffused his cheeks, “I beg your pardon? _What_ did you call me?”

McCree ignored him and slipped between people as he led towards whatever destination he had in mind like water. A desert dweller, Hanzo thought inanely, perhaps to survive in the desiccated land you had to be like water yourself. Water flowed downhill, it took the shape of the land and shaped it in turn. Perhaps he could hope that McCree would find them the easiest path.

\--  
If this was the easiest path, then Hanzo would amend what he’d thought, he would much, _much_ rather take the path with less risk.

“You are insane,” He hissed at McCree, trying to shuffle his body and press a little flatter.

McCree cackled a little, hat and serape back in place, lighting up a cigar with a cheap giftshop lighter, “Nah, done this plenty a’ times. Nothin’ to worry about.”

Hanzo jumped a bit as the hypertrain under them pulsed and hummed to life, readying for departure, “That does not make this less crazy,” he shifted and pressed his feet tight against the opposite train car where they’d tucked themselves between and used the maximum suction on his boots. The space they had to fit in was tight, and one side of him was pressed all along McCree.

“We’ll be fine. Just keep your head low here and you’ll avoid the stream of air above and to the sides.” He puffed his cigar, raising an eyebrow at him, his eyes dancing with mirth, “You’re a fuckin’ ninja, Partner, no way you can tell me you never done anything nuts before.”

“I have snuck in and out of places that are significantly more risky,” he allowed, “But they were all _stationary_!”

“Well hey,” The sound from the train beneath them increased in frequency and Hanzo held his breath, “Now ya can say ya’ve done both.”

The train took off, accelerating to 640 km per hour in three seconds flat. 

Hanzo swore breathlessly in Japanese as the air was knocked from his lungs. 

McCree laughed and laughed.

“How long are we on this train for?” he managed, having to shout to be heard, but their little pocket between cars seemed stable for the time being. 

“S’about six hours to Istanbul,” McCree said, puffing his cigar, the smoke whipping up to disappear over their heads, “After that we spend the night, then catch another train fer a nine-hour ride through the Middle East and down the Indian sub-continent.” He shuffled, trying to get comfortable. “Spend another night and look to meet up with the others on day three, ‘less they beat us.”

“You are insane,” Hanzo said again, but more weakly. He knew he’d be sore by the end of this, but it would be manageable. He’d spent longer in more uncomfortable places. Just none moving at 640 kmph.

“Ya can hold my hand if it makes ya feel any better,” McCree said around the cigar, teasing and flirting in equal measure. “Jus’ hope this trip is better than my last one.”

“What happened on your last trip?”

“My, isn’t this part a’ Spain pretty? Mountains remind me a’ the Rockies.”

“McCree, _what happened on your last trip_?”

\--  
When they disembarked hours later, Hanzo was stiff and grouchy and wanted nothing more than some food, some alcohol, and some sleep. He had one on hand at least, and drank liberally from his flask. 

McCree took his hat off and shook his hair out like a stray dog and stretched, long body arching an angling upward. Hanzo averted his eyes. “Don’t s’pose ya mind sharin’?” Hanzo sighed and passed it over, the American grinning, “much obliged.” He took a long swig and Hanzo’s eyes flickered to the line of his throat as it bobbed and then away, taking the flask back when McCree finished. 

“I am not sure I want to trust your idea of lodging considering what your idea of travel turned out to be.”

“Aw c’mon. Show a little faith,” he cajoled, and against all his better judgment Hanzo followed him. It turned out McCree had an old contact in Istanbul that ran a hotel, a short, balding Turkish man who swore messily at the sight of him and recognized him by some alias leftover from his Overwatch days. But the little man did allow them a room and insisted they’re even, a deal which seemed to satisfy the American well enough. 

It’s wasn’t the five star hotels Hanzo Shimada visited in his youth, but it was clean, had two beds, and the room was secure enough. As a one-night stopover it wasn’t bad, and he’d definitely slept in worse. Hanzo was tired though, and stowed the bags where his Storm Bow was folded and compact and free of notice from prying eyes, undid the airtight seal of his boots against his pants and then slowly slides off the form-fitting material and machinery. He didn’t even bother undressing, just fell back into one of the beds, mind buzzing but exhausted, and let his thoughts drift, hoping to float into sleep. 

McCree watched him with a small smile and sat on his own bed, undoing his breastplate and boots, “Get some rest, Partner. We’re doin’ it all over again tomorrow.”

\--  
And so they did, but this time Hanzo is better prepared for the trip, and though the travel time is longer he comes out the other side actually having enjoyed himself somewhat. He couldn’t actually fire the storm bow without notice from between the train cars, but he and McCree made something of a game of things, picking a fast approaching target, a tree or stone or something, and throwing objects and bits they had on them, the cowboy seeming to have no end of garbage in his pockets, attempting to hit it. It was good practice since they were both marksmen, albeit of different sorts, and it had been, well, a bit _fun_. He would never say this to McCree, but if the American’s smug, self-satisfied grin is anything to go by then he probably suspected. 

He hasn’t been to India in a few years. He rarely passed through on business with his father but in the years since leaving the Shimada Empire he’d spent plenty of time. There had always been something to do to help redeem himself, wrongdoers to hunt, people to help, and with such a heavy population it was easy to disappear in plain sight. 

Now he’s finding all three true once again. 

Or he would be if McCree didn’t stick out so sorely.

“Perhaps you should remove the hat and your ‘serape,’” Hanzo points out as they attract stares all the way from the transport hub (they’d arrived in the small hours of the morning and near-collapsed in a cheap hotel attached, too exhausted upon arrival to look elsewhere) to where they’d planned on meeting up, after dark on the roof of a hotel Winston had found located strategically: high enough they would be difficult to see from the ground, close to the border of the Subramaniapuram slums but still technically in the city proper, and within sight of the Vishkar headquarters for the city.

“An’ perhaps _you_ oughta remove that silly bathrobe,” the American baits.

“This is not a _bathrobe_ ,” Hanzo seethes at him, because McCree is _infuriating_ , “This is a traditional uwagi for martial artists, and—“ He catches the cowboy’s impish grin and twinkling eyes where he’s looking back at him, “—and you are teasing me.”

“Maybe,” McCree outright winks at him, and Hanzo hopes the faint flush that suffuses his cheeks can be blamed on embarrassment and the attention he’s been giving his flask. McCree is handsome in a foreign and exotic way and he knows better.

“You are impossible,” Hanzo gives up. He’d learned to pick his battles, and there was no winning against this man sometimes. 

“Fer you, sweetheart, I’d be anything you want,” and McCree _laughs_ when Hanzo swears at him colorfully in Japanese. Some things need no translation. 

\--

“Now hold on, how the _hell_ did you get here before us?” McCree groused as they stepped on the roof in the settling sunset and found themselves the last to arrive. 

Lúcio shrugged helplessly, and Tracer giggled behind her hand, “What can I say man? You’re slowin’ down in your old age.”

“Yeah, har har,” the American groused and Hanzo said nothing. Winston and Reinhardt were off near the railing on the roof, gesturing to something he couldn’t see from his vantage point. “We all business already?”

Winston nodded and beckoned, the other four coming to stand near he and Reinhardt, “We won’t have the luxury of infiltration agents to provide intel for what we’re going into,” he pointed out, “But that said it would be better to take a few days to acquaint ourselves with the situation and layout down there, not to mention patrol movement—“

“Nonsense!” Reinhardt cut in, “We have to take them by surprise! The longer we wait the more likely we are to be detected!”

“I’m actually a little with Reinhardt here, Winston, sorry,” Lúcio said, shrugging. “I’m a little worried about trying clandestine _anything_ with the big guy here.”

The ape bristled, indignant, “Hey!”

“Well I’d _meant_ the seven foot German who’d be wearing a suit of armor, but now that you mention it, the gorilla thing is probably gonna be an issue too.”

Reinhardt puffed up in pride as Winston sighed, pulling off his glasses to wipe them clean. “Perhaps a fair point, but we’re just as likely to be taken unawares if we just rush in as they are.”

“Gotta be flexible, man, go with the flow. Somethin’ goes wrong, gotta adapt, ya know?” he nudged Winston’s armored shoulder, “Besides, you got yourselves an expert,” he jerked his thumbs back at himself, “I know what we’re getting’ into.”

“Their MO in Rio may be different than here is Madurai—“ Winston tried but Lúcio shook his head. 

“Nah man, it ain’t. The order they want to impose is just another prison for the people at the bottom.” The young man crossed his arms, firm, “You brought me in, Winston. You wanted what I can offer and this is it. You’re gonna have to go with me on this.”

“Think I’m with the kid,” McCree put in, voice as slow and steady as the stream of smoke from his cigar.

“Thank you, and fuck you too,” Lúcio said, but grinned at him. McCree snorted and tipped his hat. 

“Let us seize the moment!” Reinhardt declared.

“He makes a good point luv,” Tracer said to Winston, apologetic, “Have a little faith, yeah?”

“Seems I’m outmatched,” Winston allowed, but smiled faintly. “Very well. Here, I brought you all something,” Winston handed out small little earbuds to each person in turn, “I made them on the way over. Crystal clear reception and sound quality, they’ll even work underground, and they can detect voices over background noise, but they’ll let in sound around you so you shouldn’t miss anything in your surroundings. They should make communication very simple, should we separate. Keep in contact at all times. Safety first!”

“Ain’t this nifty!” McCree said, slipping it in his ear and Hanzo did the same, adjusting it till it felt comfortable. Winston was right, his hearing wasn’t impaired at all. He nodded in satisfaction.

“Thank you, this should be most useful,” he bowed his head to Winston who nearly preened.

“Manners so clean you could eat off ‘em,” McCree teased him and Hanzo frowned.

“What does that even _mean_?”

“Lúcio, why don’t you tell us what you know from your encounters with Vishkar,” Winston interrupted, derailing the impending bickering with long-honed practice.

“Sure thing,” Lúcio had set his earpiece in and was strapping on a pair of professional roller blades, neon light making a smooth line down the blade. “They say they’re in it for order and peace and to better mankind, but that tends to be a big ole load a BS. They provide housing for the really low-income neighborhoods under the lie that they’re going to be improving quality of life for the people living there, but in exchange they exploit the nearly destitute for cheap labor and impose heavy restrictions on anything they deem to be ‘lawless’ behavior. The list is pretty long on that one too.

“But by the time the people living there realize, it’s too late to do anything. Vishkar is entrenched, they’re being controlled, and the city won’t help because they’ve cleaned up the dirty spot for them, never mind the human cost.”

“How do they ‘control’ people?” Hanzo wondered.

“Vishkar uses a combination of shit to ‘keep the peace’,” Lúcio spat, “Most notably their sound technology to control impulses and instill a fake sense of peace and calm,” He held up his sonic amplifier, “And hard light tech which is their bread and butter,” he clicked his roller blades, “both of which are always fun to liberate. Get me?”

Tracer laughed, “Well done! Are we doing the same here?”

“If we can, yeah, that’d be good. Their tech really is something else, it should just be used for the people, not for their _ideal_ of the people.”

“We have a goal!” Reinhardt gloried, “Who needs a plan?”

Winston groaned, “Not us apparently.”

“Suit up, big guy,” Lúcio told Reinhardt, “It’s time for us to _go_.”


	4. Vishkar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I will not tolerate this flagrant disorder on Vishkar property.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /head in hands
> 
> Why. Whyyyy did I decide to write mission fic? I have no idea what I'm doing. 
> 
> The bad news is there's not as much Hanzo-and-McCree moments in this chapter, its more team oriented, but I think it's still fun. 
> 
> The good news is after this that changes and things start picking up.

Hanzo’s boots clamped and released, springing forward a bit, helping propel him twenty feet up the side of a building to hop up on top. Storm Bow drawn, he peered over the side, watching the patrol that was two men and an omnic mobile turret unit. It was not something that should be moving down a neighborhood street with families in the small domiciles around. Lúcio had been correct. This was wrong. 

“Patrol is moving,” He murmured, knowing Winston’s earpiece would catch it. “Thirty seconds and the street is clear, Lúcio move up first, rest of the team follows. I am moving to the next street.” He took off at a sprint, vaulting the gap between buildings to land soundlessly on the next roof, his boots absorbing all the impact and making nearly no noise. 

Below him be heard something moving quickly, and then slide against the wall. A moment later Lúcio flipped up on the rooftop with him, rollerblades glowing steadily. “Almost ready?” He whispered, skating over.

Hanzo nodded, “Reinhardt, second street is clear. You should have a clear path to your destination,” He peered at the entrance to the Vishkar supply depot in the center of the Subramaniapuram district, “Four guards at the entrance, two omnic units.”

_“Omnic units are standard Castle units.” Athena’s voice filtered in over the earpieces, “they are equipped with a minigun and armor-piercing rounds, however they take time to spin up and their armor is brittle to force at close range.”_

“Go for it, big guy!” Lúcio crowed quietly, “You show ‘em who’s boss!”

_“I will open the way!”_ Reinhardt’s shout came through the earpiece, diminished but still a dull roar. 

The ground rumbled and Hanzo watched, wide-eyed, as a massive suit of J08 Crusader Armor rocketed down the street, propelled by jet engine. 

The Vishkar guards went crazy, and Hanzo dimly heard them shouting, the turret units slowly spinning up as Reinhardt crashed into them, the engine releasing pressure through the vents in the suit and leaving the ground cracked and red-hot. No one was standing. He braced his stance and brought his hammer around, a rocket on the back propelling it forward in a mighty arc to smash against the heavy steel door of the depot. The door _crumpled_ on impact and cracked off its hinges, flying inward and out of sight. _“The way is open,”_ He said emphatically. 

Lúcio laughed hysterically, trying to keep it quiet, “Holy shit man, _did you see that?”_

_“Jesus Christ, ya’ll are nuts,”_ McCree’s amused drawl trickled in.

_“What’s that supposed to mean!”_ Tracer laughed and Hanzo spotted a blue blur whipping down the street, _“We ain’t all mental!”_

_“If I’d have meant all ya’ll I’d have said all ya’ll.”_ McCree said and Hanzo could hear the grin in his voice and tried not to think too hard about what that meant. He had a job to do. He leapt over the edge, Lúcio following, playing some strange song quietly that seemed to make his steps lighter, and they sprinted over, Winston and McCree jogging up to join the rest.

“I will hold the door!” Reinhardt said, bring one arm and a shield of hard lightly shimmered into existence, “Do what we came for!”

“Hanzo an’ I are gonna head in, find the nerve center. Should be where they keep the sound technology. Tracer, you and Winston see if you can find a floor plan, if Athena can’t find anything, head for the main depot, see what supplies and tech they have that we can give as a little present to the Subramaniapuram district. McCree, sweep the halls for stragglers, bound to be a few and be ready if Reinhardt calls for help.” Lúcio directed.

“I can hold this door!” Reinhardt said, “I will not need the help.”

“Well just in case, big guy.” Lúcio grinned, breathless, riding on adrenaline, “McCree, incapacitate if you can, most’ve ‘em are just employees, but if ya can’t then do whatcha gotta.”

“No problem, Partner,” the cowboy flicked the brim of his hat. 

“Alright! Let’s go team! Hanzo, my man!” Lúcio skidded off backwards down the hall and Hanzo turned to follow, bow ready, McCree catching his eye as he turned and winked.

“You be careful,” The cowboy said, solemn voice at odds with the soft smile.

Hanzo nodded, “You do the same,” and then he chased the lights of Lúcio’s roller blades down the hall. 

\--

The depot had seemed small on the outside, but what they found was a rat’s maze of corridors and tunnels below ground, at least three levels down. Point for Winston in the camp of being prepared. That said, there were floor plans for fire escape in nearly every hall, so point to Lúcio for spontaneity. 

Hanzo raced down stairs as Lúcio skidded down the rails, his dreadlocks flying behind him, his music filling them with energy, Hanzo didn’t even feel his muscles burn with exertion. There were few human personnel, mostly omnic patrollers, easily fixed with an arrow to the head. He heard shots on levels above him, McCree at work, and the humans they encountered were knocked out and left, their hands and feet zip-tied.

On the bottom level, Lúcio weaved around in front of another floor plan, checking, “Down this hall, almost there!” He took off and Hanzo followed, an arrow nocked, but the levels this low seemed deserted, a reprieve from the security that lurked upstairs. But who’d have thought that controlled residents in a slum would attack a guarded corporate depot? 

Hanzo smirked a bit, sprinting. Perhaps with people like Lúcio in the world they not only should’ve prepared for it, but planned on it. 

The door at the end of the hall was secured with a keypad, but Lúcio blasted it with a shrill frequency that had it blinking green and the door sliding open. They slipped into the room to find one alarmed technician, who Lúcio popped with a pulse from his sonic amplifier, knocking him into the wall and out cold. Hanzo stood guard by the door.

Servers lined the back wall, and the front of the room was a hive of soundboards, switchboards, and complicated-looking controls. Hanzo couldn’t have deciphered them if his life depended on it, but Lúcio seemed to know exactly what he was doing. 

“This controls the output to every speaker tower in the district. It plays that subsonic noise that gives this whole place that awful manufactured calm.” He hit a few buttons and started changing a few dials.

“What’s the plan for it then?” Hanzo wondered, scanning the halls but somehow no alert had been raised. 

“Gonna route my own little brand of heaven through this puppy. Play something to get everyone _really_ movin’ and thinkin’ but they’ll be doin’ it on their own. Then we’re gonna take the portable stuff off their hands.” He pulled a wire down from his headset and plugged it into the soundboard, changing the dials again. “Athena, babe, can you download that file I gave ya for safekeeping?” Through the halls a light, jazzy electronic beat bounced though the depot and Hanzo found his foot tapping a bit to the music. “Perfect! Thanks, girl.”

_“Music to my ears, friend!”_ Reinhardt’s voice came down almost immediately, _“It’s not Hasselhoff, but it is truly a symphony in the streets!”_

“Reinhardt we are gonna have _words_ about what you just said later. How ya holdin’ up there, Big Guy? Still got that door locked down?” Lúcio said, most of his attention still on the soundboard.

_“They are starting to notice outside, but there are no problems yet.”_

_“An alarm has gone out alerting patrols in the district,”_ Athena warned.

“Keep an eye out then, you only got one of ‘em!” Lúcio teased him, Reinhardt’s booming laugh filling the comm.

_“Winston and I found a ton of things in this place!”_ Tracer came in. _“Hard light cells, food and water, power sources. This stuff could really help people!”_

_“Luckily I can carry a lot!”_ Winston hummed happily. 

“Sounds like a good place to start!” Lúcio was packing up tools around the sound station. Hanzo saw equipment similar to what the music icon himself used. “Vishkar sonic tech right here, most advanced in the world. Music’s universal ya know? Maybe not genre, but everyone can get behind a tune they love. Gonna hand this back to the people.” He flashed a thumbs up, “And with that we’re set! Hanzo, let’s get the hell outta here.” Lúcio skated past him and Hanzo took off following. He felt powerful. They were doing a good thing for these people in this Subramaniapuram district. It was freeing to do good without relying on killing for once.

“What happens when they stop the music? It can’t play forever,” He asked, breathless as he ran to keep up with the skating musician. 

“Be too late by then I hope!” Lúcio spun once to flash him a thumbs up before coasting down the hall. “That’s the rub with something like this, can do all the work in the world to give these people the chance to free themselves, but ya can’t make ‘em take it. I was there to lead people outta the dark in Rio, a figurehead, a rally point, but I dunno if anyone would stand up like that here. Hope so. Have to just hope they push back against Vishkar after this, take no more, hear me?”

“Can lead a horse to water, but ya can’t make ‘em drink,” McCree chuckled over the comm. And something tense within Hanzo’s chest loosened marginally. He hadn’t heard from McCree since they’d separated, it was a relief to hear him fine now. Everyone accounted for, he told himself.

“Let’s get everyone out. Make sure this stuff goes somewhere to do some good,” He cranked his music and seemed to shoot forward even faster, heading through a door into another hall, coasting for the stairwell. “Just hope it’s—“

Whatever he was going to say didn’t finish as he crossed over the threshold, six beams of sizzling, hissing _light_ lanced down and made full contact. Lúcio cried out and tripped, rolling out of the way, but Hanzo could see the steam lifting off his back.

“Who’s there?” Hanzo roared, Storm Bow drawn, tense, _how had they missed one?_

Slow deliberate, steps, heels clicking on the pristine tile floor. An elegant Indian woman stepped forward, an aloof, unimpressed look on her face behind a flickering HUD, one arm robotic, generating Vishkar hard light right into her fingertips where they formed and reformed it idly. A three-pronged weapon hummed in the grip of her flesh hand. 

“I am called Symmetra, and I will not tolerate this flagrant disorder on Vishkar property.” Sleek and svelte, she was completely unbothered by the arrow Hanzo had pointed at her head. 

_“What’s going on?”_ Winston’s voice came in over the comm, worried.

“Straggler on the lowest level. Lúcio, can you get up?” Hanzo said, never taking his eyes or his arrow off the Vishkar agent. 

“Yeah, think I’m okay,” He swore and sat up slowly, a different music picking up, calm and smooth. He tried to stand but slid back down the wall, hissing in pain.

“If you think I cannot avoid something as medieval as an arrow then you are mistaken,” Symmetra said calmly, “The question is if you think you can avoid my photon projector.”

His eyes flickered to the weapon and drew an arrow back marginally farther.

Her eyes narrowed, “So be it.”

Hanzo fired.

Symmetra weaved to the side, fast, the arrow whistling by her head, laser focused and instead of a projectile flying at Hanzo a beam of light connected with him and his skin felt like it was on fire.

“Hanzo!” He barely heard Lúcio’s shout, feeling the energy drain from him. He struggled to stay standing, his mind consumed with heat and pain. Symmetra walked over calmly, projector locked on him and Hanzo scowled at her. 

“I told you,” She said, sneering, “I will not tolerate this disorder. I will _fix_ you.”

Hanzo spat a curse at her in Japanese and grabbed a scatter arrow from his quiver, priming it and throwing it. Not as effective as if shot, but it separated and bounced, Symmetra dodging back to avoid the arcing projectiles, just enough for Hanzo to throw himself back, rolling, breaking the beam of the projector. His Storm Bow came up in one fluid movement and he nocked another scatter arrow. 

She straightened, eyes narrowed at him, “You are strong, stronger than most who dare cross Vishkar.”

“I will not be stopped by you,” Hanzo growled, “Not now.”

Her fingers flicked and a shell of hard light settled over her skin, making it gleam in the florescent lighting. “I do not like killing people, it is wasteful and messy, but if you insist on continuing, I will make an exception for you.”

` Hanzo tensed, ready to fire, he could see Symmetra’s hand on the projector twitch. She shot an orb of energy out and he rolled, keeping his arrow nocked and brought it up again—

She was frozen, eyes narrowed, staring at the ceiling, “How dare—“

“Why don’t we all just relax, hmm?” that low drawl was welcome relief, and Hanzo stood, moving closer and finding McCree, pistol pressed against her back, mechanical hand on his hip. “See, I would _really_ appreciate if you stopped tryin’ ta kill my friends. Think we can come to an agreement?”

She said nothing, jaw tight.

“Aw, don’t be like that. Now why don’t you deactivate all those turrets so our third friend there can rejoin us and not get cooked.” McCree instructed, and when she didn’t move he pressed the gun more firmly into her back, voice taking a dangerous edge, “I ain’t playin’ around. Do it.”

She resisted a moment longer and then made a strange gesture with her bionic arm, and the turrets dissipated into nothing but a glimmer of light.

“Much obliged. Now drop that future gun there,” She did so, swearing softly in Tamil, “Hanzo, can you help Lúcio get up?”

Hanzo nodded, watching Symmetra warily, “Your timing is impeccable, McCree.”

The cowboy grinned, flicking the brim of his hat with mechanical fingers, “Never leave you high and dry, darlin’.”

Hanzo snorted, cheeks coloring faintly—honestly, why speak to him with such indecent familiarity—and walked over to Lúcio, “Can you stand?”

Lúcio nodded, reaching for a hand up, which Hanzo gave him. “Yeah, think I’ll be okay. Little woozy, but I can get outta here under my own power.”

_“Everything alright down there?”_ Tracer asked, worried.

“We’re fine, missy,” McCree assured. “You get everything out?”

_“We sure did! People have started noticing something’s goin’ on. Already handed some supplies over. I think its working!_ ”

_“I have notified local authorities,”_ Athena said, _“Their presence should keep Vishkar from attempting further suppression once they’re under focus.”_

“It will not last. I had radioed Vishkar, they know what you’re doing, stealing supplies, abusing the frequency technology,” Symmetra said tightly. “They will put this to rights.”

“Nah girl, can’t put the people to sleep twice,” Lúcio was finding his feet again. “Let’s walk the lady out, yeah? McCree you got any handcuffs?”

“Oh, honestly. M’cultivatin’ the outlaw image here, not the law man.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know that? Let’s take her out and give her to the district then. Let them tell her exactly what they think of Vishkar and their ‘cleansing’ influence.”

“They should be thanking us,” Symmetra snapped, “We have brought order to chaos, created an organized haven where Humanity can flourish. These people were drowning in their own societal detritus before Vishkar came along.”

“It don’ work that way,” McCree said, pushing with his pistol, walking her forward.

“Can’t tell people what they need, girl,” Lúcio told her, skating slowly, finding his feet. “What one person needs is totally different from another. Vishkar ain’t interested in making things better for people, they’re interested in makin’ shit better for themselves.”

Symmetra was silent after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Symmetra is awesome and anyone who thinks differently can fight me.


	5. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Either you will listen to what I came to say or I will have to fight for my life, but I would appreciate it if you made up your mind about which it will be quickly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's fairly quiet, as is the next one. Things start moving again for the team after that.

“How’s that newsfeed lookin’, Winston?” Lúcio called over from where they sat around a metal table back at the old Overwatch base in Gibraltar. They were all eager to celebrate after their first success together—the first of many, Winston had said with pride—but they were also burning with curiosity to see what was going to happen in Madurai following the ransacking of the Vishkar supply depot. It was a small job, but they were only six without great resources.

Hanzo would even admit to some anticipation. 

“All news stations are reporting the same thing!” The gorilla told them, excited, “Protests all over Madurai!”

Lúcio, Tracer, and Reinhardt cheered uproariously, McCree smirking satisfied to himself. Even Hanzo found himself smiling. Vishkar was too entrenched to uproot completely, but it wasn’t their task to do that anyway. It was Madurai’s and they’d taken to it admirably. 

“I’ll have to head over there in a few days and give a show and a speech or somethin’,” Lúcio grinned, self-satisfied, and took a sip of the beer Reinhardt had brought out from _somewhere_. Tracer mourned that such an occasion should have champagne, but she accepted the dark German beer with enthusiasm. McCree drank something rich an amber from a long-necked bottle and Hanzo himself favored the plum wine in his own flask. Winston had opened himself a fresh jar of peanut butter. 

“You don’t think Vishkar is gonna shit a brick and finger you the moment they see your ass on the security feed?” McCree asked.

“Nah, the song I left playing should fuck it up the recording enough to cast reasonable doubt, and even if they do it can only boost my message while the lawyers sort it out.” He shrugged. “Only person who could reasonably point a finger at me would be that ‘Symmetra’ and it’d be her word versus mine. Can’t do nothin’ with that.”

“Still, be careful eh? Vishkar’s a nasty enemy to have,” Tracer bumped his shoulder with her fist.

“Not an enemy I didn’t have already,” He shrugged, “And speaking of Symmetra, have we heard anything about what happened to her?”

They’d left the light architect in the hands of the local authorities and riled Subramaniapuram district inhabitants, her flesh wrist ziptied to her bionic arm, for all the good it likely did. But in the midst of the inhabitants of the district there was nothing she could do, and Hanzo and others had slipped away. 

“Not a word, but that’s not surprising. Vishkar takes its architects very seriously. A lot of time and money goes into training them, and their handling the cutting edge of technology day-to-day. It’s an investment they protect,” Winston said, leaving the newsfeed playing while he joined them at the table. 

“So, if Lúcio’s takin’ some time to lend a public hand to this Vishkar thing are we takin a short sabbatical while he does that or movin’ without him?” Tracer asked, having already downed half a hefty stein of beer. 

“We should strike while the iron is hot!” Reinhardt boomed, slamming his own empty stein on the table. 

“You wanna leave me behind, Big Guy?” Lúcio teased.

“Not at all!” Reinhardt clapped the young man on the back over-hard, “But you can do good in many ways. I am my hammer and my shield and if they are not put to use then I am simply moldering away,” He bemoaned. 

“Some rest might not be amiss though,” Winston said, considering, “Most of us agents are a bit out of practice.”

McCree grinned, “Nah, some of us didn’t sit on our butts and eat peanut butter and bananas for years. Some of us kept working.”

Winston pouted at him, “I’ve only put on a little weight!”

“Well ya still fit into the literal monkey suit so ya ain’t that bad off.”

Hanzo smiled, watching the light ribbing, the wine warm in his stomach and his cheeks. These people were strangers to him still, for the most part, but it was… comfortable. He glanced at McCree, who was still laughing at Winston. He was irritating and distracting, but he was more than his past. 

Hanzo took another sip of plum wine. He could only hope to be the same. 

\--

Their celebrations went on thought the evening and into the night, the ex-Overwatch agents telling the newcomers their most exciting stories about missions and assignments they ran, close calls, and all the good times they’d had. Tongues got looser with every tale as they relaxed with good company and alcohol.

Hanzo internally berated himself for draining his flask. He didn’t usually partake so much. His body was warm and languid. Genji had teased him when they were young men that he was a sleepy drunk, and with the alcohol in his blood the thought of his brother didn’t hurt like it usually did. 

He was slumped over a bit, leaning on something warm, watching Tracer flicker around on the tabletop, trying to act out a particularly daring escape she’d had when her accelerator had been damaged and things were looking grim. If such a young woman could go through an intense military experience and come out with a child-like enthusiasm intact then Overwatch—and its remnants here—couldn’t be a bad choice, surely.

“You gonna go to sleep on me, Partner?” A warm, low voice asked him, strangely close to his ear and Hanzo blinked and turned his head. 

Oh, so he was leaning on McCree. 

“Perhaps,” Hanzo allowed. He wouldn’t—yet—but it was coming. 

McCree chuckled, a low smoky sound perfectly matched to his cigar, “Never figured you fer the kinda guy that couldn’t hold his liquor.”

“I am holding it fine,” Hanzo said stiffly, or tried to. He just sounded quiet and calm. “What about you? You don’t appear to be holding yourself up under your own power either,” He nudged him where the cowboy was pressed against his side. 

“Could anytime I want to,” McCree said, soft and lightly slurred, “You’re just warm and comfy.”

A good thing his cheeks were already pink. Why ever say such things? “I am not your pillow, McCree.”

“Mmm, you sure about that?” The cowboy said, head pillowing on Hanzo’s own.

He ground his teeth a little, “You are trying to get a reaction from me, it will not work.”

McCree laughed softly, “Shame. I’m comfortable anyway. Win-win for me, Partner.”

“You impossible man,” Hanzo griped, determined not to rise to the bait. 

The cowboy laughed again, the sound doing unspeakable things in Hanzo’s stomach, “Well I’m already a disappointment, you rememberin’ me an’ all. Least I can do is live up to it.”

Hanzo blinked a little, his mind taking a moment to catch up and once it did he spoke without thinking, “You are not a disappointment.”

McCree seemed to take a moment to process, “I ain’t? Figured the way you reacted to seein’ me here all you remembered was the stupid kid that’d cast his lot in with the scum of the earth.”

“If you remember I was part of the crime family hiring you,” Hanzo murmured, smiling, though the expression was slightly smushed against McCree’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, but that was family, I get it. Me, I made a choice to throw my lot in with ‘em. You were born into it. Was a difference. Sometimes family means ya do shitty things and there’s really no choice.”

Hanzo thought of shipments of guns and drugs, networked all over Asia and into America, thought of the traditional Shimada training in the art of combat and being a ninja, like his father before him, and grandfather and great-grandfather and beyond even where he knew, he thought of his brother, shouting at him, thought of their fight, of blood—

“That is no excuse,” He murmured, eyes closing as if to shut out the memories, “Somewhere in that, a choice is made as well. We are both more than our pasts. We have to be, or there is no way we could get on in life. If I am more than my family’s legacy, then you are more than a gang you joined as a young man.”

McCree was silent for a long moment, and then when he finally spoke his voice was rougher, “Thank ya’, Hanzo. Means a lot to hear that.”

Hanzo yawned, sleep coming up on him like a wave, “You are welcome.”

\--

Hanzo was awoken suddenly the next morning to a gentle hand shaking his shoulder. He startled, hand reaching for his storm bow, when a soft giggle stilled his hand. He blinked blearily at Tracer who smiled softly, “Relax a bit, yeah? Just me. Save it a bit, ya might need it.”

“What?” he wondered, sitting up as McCree stirred against him.

“S’ goin’ on?” McCree wondered, yawning, sitting up himself. Hanzo felt chilled as the warm cowboy drew away.

“Got a bit of an intruder. Something’s shuttin’ off Winston’s security feeds, getting’ closer to the base. We’re gonna see who’s there,” Her face grew grim a moment, “Know he’s worried about Talon hittin’ this place again.”

The mention of Talon was enough to set McCree growling and hauling his body upright, and though Hanzo felt a dull ache in his head from the alcohol he did the same. “Where are the others?”

“Reinhardt’s suiting up. Lúcio and Winston went to take a look first, see if they can head whatever it is off. We’ll catch up, yeah?”

McCree was strapping on his hip holster, the heavy Peacekeeper sitting within, and Hanzo reached over to where he’d left his storm bow folded up, releasing the cache that let it snap into place. He restrung it quickly, scooping up his quiver and strapping it on. “Let us go then.”

Reinhardt was waiting for them out front in his crusader armor, rocket hammer slung over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, “No word yet from Lúcio or Winston. Come!” He turned and jogged off as though he wasn’t wearing hundreds of pounds of metal and machinery. 

“Ya know, back when I was in Overwatch I was half convinced that guy wasn’t even _real_ ,” McCree snorted, taking off after him. “Convinced now I wasn’t _wrong_.”

The Watchpoint was quiet in the early morning, all the pale stone of the buildings glowing almost peach and pink in the sunrise. All he could hear at first as they ran down the curving asphalt of the main route was the sea just beyond the cliff. As they stepped into the vehicle bay on the way to the launch pad, he started to hear Winston and Lúcio’s voices, raised and agitated.

Hanzo vaulted a stack of crates, nocking an arrow midair, to see what was beyond, McCree pressing tight against another vehicle, peacekeeper out, Reinhardt pushing right into the thick of things.

And there, confronted by Winston and Lúcio, was Symmetra.

“The hell’re you doin’ here?” Lúcio was demanding.

“How did you find this place,” Winston pushed back. Tracer wordlessly blinked around behind her, pulse pistols pointed straight at her back. 

She tilted her head briefly, acknowledging that someone was behind her and watched the two before her with a cool expression, “I came to find you, and quite easily. Do not worry, I did not tell Vishkar where you were or where I was going.”

“And why should we trust you?” Winston said, tesla cannon primed and ready.

She raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and set down her photon projector and disconnected the hard light cell from her bionic arm, setting it down gently next to it. “I would prefer to get those back, but I am willing to offer them as a gesture of good faith. I am not here to fight.”

“Maybe I’m lookin’ to pick a fight,” Lúcio growled and Winston held up a hand.

“Hang on, let’s see what she has to say.”

“She could be wasting time till a strike team makes it to her position,” Reinhardt pointed out.

“If Vishkar knew about this place and planned to raid it then they would not send me in first. I would be sent as a clandestine operative and you would not know I was here until it was too late.” She crossed her arms, “Either you will listen to what I came to say or I will have to fight for my life, but I would appreciate it if you made up your mind about which it will be quickly.”

Reinhardt laughed loudly, a sound that seemed to startle her a bit, and Tracer giggled at her, pistols never dropping, “What’ll it be then, Winston?”

“I’m willing to listen,” Winston said.

“Man, _what_?” Lúcio protested.

Hanzo shot a look at McCree who he found glancing back in his direction. The cowboy shrugged, unconcerned, and the archer nodded. “McCree and I agree that we should hear what she’s come to say. We lose nothing but time.”

“Nothing you _know_ but time,” Lúcio grumbled, but didn’t offer further fuss. 

Symmetra nodded, “My real name is Satya Vaswani, and I have belonged to Vishkar since I was a little girl, constructing hard light for them at their behest. I am extremely grateful to Vishkar for what they gave to me, and I believe in their message and their goals,” She paused for a moment. “That said, something you said in Madurai has stayed with me. That they aren’t interested in the good of humanity but in their own good. Obviously a corporation cannot be completely selfless, but they should be serving the people. What you said… echoes doubts I already had.

“I want to serve their ideals and goals, but there is good and order I could bring to those in need in this world outside their influence. I want to do that, to help build the ideal world they preach but may never be able to deliver.”

Lúcio bristled, “We don’t want your ideal of helping people!”

“Now, hold on,” Winston sighed, “She makes a good point.”

“She _what_?”

“You were the one who said back in Madurai that people did not all require the same aid,” Symmetra said. “By that logic it stands to reason that your solution will not help everyone either, and mine may be needed in places.”

“That’s _bullshit_.”

“It’s actually not,” Winston said slowly. “Her logic is sound, and if we’re really going to help then a different viewpoint might be a good plan.” He sighed, “Differing…. Opinions clashing in an ironclad mindset was one of the things that ended up destroying Overwatch. I would like it if this time around we could be a little more flexible.”

McCree made a low, unsettled sound around his cigar, shifting feet restlessly, Hanzo’s eyes flicking to his moment of unease, “Reyes,” the outlaw spat.

Winston glanced at him but said nothing in response, and continued to address Symmetra, “If you are serious, if you want to help us to help others, then we would be glad for your assistance. However,” Winston marched up, huge bulk towering over her, a silverback defending his troop, “If you cross us, we will not be so gentle with you the next time around.”

She took an involuntary step back then raised her chin defiantly, “I am not here to disappoint. I am here to do good.”

Winston nodded decisively, “Then welcome to Overwatch. We’ll take you back to base, see what you can do.”

She bowed and turned to Hanzo, “I believe I owe you something of an apology. I nearly killed you.”

“You think quite highly of yourself,” Hanzo said, slipping off the crates and walking closer, the others heading back towards the center of the Watchpoint, Lúcio turning his back only when he was sure the archer had eyes on her. “I remember it a bit differently.” He felt rather than heard McCree follow, approaching at his back, an unspoken presence and a watchful eye. 

One side of her mouth quirked just so, “Well, then however it went, I am glad we are both standing.”

Hanzo snorted through his nose, own lips twisting briefly in amusement, “I will echo that sentiment.”

“Wonderful! Big ole happy family,” MacCree’s arms came down over both of their shoulders and pulled them in, “This’ll be fun for sure.”

Symmetra made a soft sound of disdain and lifted McCree’s arm off of her and slipped free, “Yes, I am sure it will be… quite ‘fun’.”

The cowboy only laughed, and though Hanzo pushed, the arm around him would not be dislodged, “Ya party pooper,” He looked down at the archer, “Ain’t that right?”

“Get off of me.”

“Spoilsports, all a’ ya.” McCree lamented, and took a few steps towards base to join the team, glancing back, continuing to keep track of Hanzo. 

And Hanzo followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope my American readers have a good holiday, and a good weekend for all!


	6. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“My old friends! It is so good to see you!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! The weekend of the 4th ate me, and then SGQD was all last week so I got zero writing done. Back on track now.

They ended up taking a two week hiatus. 

Lúcio traveled officially to Madurai and gave a benefit concert and did a lot of public speaking. Hanzo watched him on the news when he could, the musician dropping a few hints here and there that the world needed more people to step up and help.

Reinhardt, riding high on their success and shouting for more, went off with Symmetra to see exactly what she could do, going to check and make sure some kind of Dragons were gone for good. Hanzo hadn’t been sure what he meant. She couldn’t act against Vishkar—for now, Hanzo thought privately—but she seemed serious about wanting to do good for the people of the world, and this test run would be a decent gauge of that. Reinhardt, for all his very loud enthusiasm, could be a harsh critic, especially when it came to something as near and dear to his heart as Overwatch. 

She was searching for something of her own, Hanzo thought. Perhaps they all were. 

This left the rest of them at loose ends for a bit until Winson decided it was safe to take another mission. They didn’t have the manpower or supplies to defend themselves should too many people catch on and take offense before they had the good opinion of the public. The ape had been kind enough to offer to retune his boots before they separated, and the archer was grateful to have an actual mechanic do microadjustments for a change.

After that Hanzo took the time to see some of Europe since he’d never been before, and also, privately, to put some distance between himself and McCree. The American left him feeling unbalanced and emotional, neither were things he wanted, and he needed some space to put it into perspective. 

McCree was handsome and charming and infuriating and dangerous all at once, and Hanzo knew better than to get involved. 

But he wanted to.

Oh, how he wanted to. On his own and away from temptation he could admit to himself that he wanted McCree, wanted him fiercely, and he’d caught himself more than once since his departure with his hand on his cock in bed or in the shower, stroking it, drunk on feeling, to the thought of brown hair and brown eyes and an easy liquid honey grin. He _wanted_ him, and it had been so long—

Yes, he needed this break. 

So he traveled a few places in Europe that sounded interesting to him (and if he hitched rides illegally on hypertrains, that was his own business). He saw Venice, with its impressive feats of engineering, the immense mechanical pumps that kept the sinking canal city above sea level. He saw the Alps in Switzerland, and tried the chocolate. If asked, he preferred his sweets to be less sugary and a bit more bitter, but no one was around to see him indulge a secret sweet tooth in a bit of decadent chocolate. He went further north still to London. Risky for him to be seen in such a heavily populated city, but he wanted to see the British museum, and view the Japanese galleries, where they were displaying one of the few authentic prints of Hokusai’s Great Wave. 

As he stood admiring it, the curls of the sea foam surging above the boats, Fuji distant in the background, he tried not to think about how this immortal, Japanese piece of art was actually full of Western influences. It was beautiful, and hit a little too close to home.

As for what Tracer and the cowboy himself did with themselves in this time he could not say, but he slunk back into Gibraltar at the exact deadline they’d agreed upon, interested to see what they would do next. The little vacation was nice, but he was eager to get back to work. His fingers felt empty without a bowstring, and the peace had been a nice diversion but it was too quiet. It left him feeling like there was something that should be happening. 

Though this time he did Winston a favor and arrived in the daylight. 

The place was busy when he walked in. 

Winston was arguing with an unfamiliar older man with a shock of white hair and a beaten leather jacket with ‘76’ in bright colors on the back, while Tracer looked on with almost-literal stars in her eyes. Behind him there was a short, stout man with a bushy blonde beard and a large, mechanical, red claw for an arm, who seemed to just be watching tiredly. 

“You don’t get to just come in here and tell me I’m wrong, Morrison,” Winston said, mouth twisted unhappily, “We could offer a lot of help to the world—we did back in Madurai!”

“Overwatch is _dead_ , Winston. You should’ve let it rest in peace without unearthing its desiccated corpse,” This solider with the 76 said, this Morrison.

“How is what we’re doing any different than what you’ve been doing?”

“I’m trying to uncover what happened, the corruption and the fall of Overwatch, not bring it back.”

“Maybe you should be!” Winston fought back, “It was the best thing you’d ever done—any of us had ever done with our lives. And yes, maybe we should find out what happened back then, bring to light the injustice that was done, but that doesn’t mean we stop helping people, stop doing _good_!”

76 just growled, almost more animalistic than Winston, clearly revving up for a scathing rebuttal.

A hand reached out from behind the entry and grabbed Hanzo’s sleeve and dragged him over, the archer stumbling a bit in surprise, hand going for his bow before he was looking into amused brown eyes and an easy smile, “Gonna wanna steer clear a’ the fallout of that conversation, Partner. Looks like it’ll be something of a mess.”

Hanzo swallowed. Two weeks had not been enough. 

“Who is he?” He managed, eyes flicking over McCree once, taking assessment, _drinking him in_ , and sliding away again. 

“Jack Morrison used to be the strike commander of Overwatch. Seems he became the vigilante ‘Soldier: 76’ to try and take vengeance for its collapse,” McCree said, blowing a stream of cigar smoke. “We thought he was dead. It’s… hard to see ‘im like this, but, well,” He huffed softly, “thank fuck he’s alive.”

“—Even had new people join us!” Winston was saying, trying to stand taller than Morrison, for all the solider seemed to care, “We have Genji’s brother Hanzo with us now, as well as Lúcio Correia dos Santos, from Rio—“

“Wait, the electronic music star?” the bearded man in back said, bewildered.

“—not to mention an architect from Vishkar. We are making our way again, Jack.” Winston pleaded, “We’re not like we were, no. We don’t have that presence or power. But we _could_. Overwatch could be something again.”

Hanzo could see in Morrison’s body language he wasn’t convinced, could see the way he reared back that he was going to deliver a verbal blow. 

_“My old friends! It is so good to see you!”_

Morrison whipped around, eyes widening as Reinhardt pushed into the room and came straight for him. “Wilhelm, don’t you dare—“ Reinhardt paid him no mind and caught him up in a fierce hug, lifting the bulky soldier clear off the ground. “Reinhardt—!”

“I missed you, Jack! I am so glad to see you alive and well!” Symmetra had slid into the room behind him, and watched the whole thing with bald curiosity, saying nothing. 

McCree chuckled from somewhere above Hanzo’s shoulder, “ten bucks says Winston was wastin’ time till the big guy found ‘em in here.”

There was a flicker of blue and suddenly Tracer was at the cowboy’s other side, whispering, “You’re on.”

The short bearded man was laughing at Morrison’s plight, but as soon as Reinhardt put down the old soldier he turned and came for him, “Dammit, don’t you dare—!”

Reinhardt did not heed him, lifting him bodily as well to embrace him, “Ah, my old friend Torbjörn! I have missed you as well!”

“Ugh,” Torbjörn said with feeling. 

“Can’t be all bad, right Jack?” McCree called out, “Seein’ everyone like this?”

Morrison sighed and looked around, eyes landing on Hanzo, “You’re Genji’s brother?”

Hanzo nodded slowly, unsure where this could be going and not liking it.

“Was he the one who told you to come join them?”

The archer’s eyes narrowed, “He made the suggestion, but the choice was mine.”

Jack heaved a sigh, seeming to consider this, “If someone who hated Overwatch as much as Genji Shimada did when he left is telling people to pick up our old banner then I guess I owe you guys your shot.” 

Winston perked up hearing this, “You’re not going to regret this, Jack.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see,” the old soldier grumbled. “You all get one shot to impress me.”

“We don’t need your permission,” Winston said, but his voice lacked conviction. Hanzo understood the dilemma well enough. Overwatch could come back and help the world, but it needed its leader.

“No, but if you want me on board with this I’m giving you one chance or I walk,” he said, tone final. 

“And you, Torbjörn?” Reinhardt asked, having set him back down on the ground, “Are you here to join us?”

Torbjörn sighed gustily, “I’m gonna regret this, but let me see what sort of a _mess_ you’ve made of your Crusader, Wilhelm.”

Reinhardt laughed and practically picked him up and carried him out, the bearded man swearing colorfully in what sounded like Swedish. "Come, my old friend! Satya and I brought back a machine from our travels we want you to look at!"

Morrison watched it with a small, distant smile on his face, probably not even realizing he wore the expression. Tracer and Winston did, and the slim little Brit flickered over and elbowed him gently, “C’mon then, feels pretty good to be back, yeah?”

“Still as presumptuous as ever, Tracer?” 76 raised one stark white brow at her and she only giggled. 

“Could be!”

“Show some respect to your former commander, girl.”

“ _Sir_ ,” She said, grin bright and unapologetic. 

Jack sighed mightily, but a smile curled at the edges of his mouth. 

The entire exchange made Hanzo quite aware that he was the outsider here. He had stepped into the fragments of an existing team, hoping his own sharp edges would find some sort of fit. Sides had matched here and there, but this was a reminder that he had not slotted in quite yet. He pressed back against the wall, attempting to remove himself from the exchange, and let them have their peace with familiar old faces. 

A metal hand closed around his arm and dragged him forward bodily, _“McCree—“_

“So, what do we do then, Commander, to prove we ain’t a bunch of retired sods?” The cowboy drawled, keeping his metal fingers clamped down on Hanzo’s arm through the fabric of his clothing, keeping him anchored. 

Hanzo thought of trying to pry his fingers off, but he wasn’t confident about his own strength against that of automated mechanisms, and let it be. That was honestly the only reason.

Morrison considered, “Well I have an idea or two.” He turned and beckoned to Symmetra, “Why don’t you join us then. What’s your name?”

She tilted her head and nodded, stepping forward to join the cluster of conversation, “Satya Vasawni. Callsign: Symmetra.”

“Symmetra then. I heard you were on probation with Reinhardt. What’s the word on you?” His blue eyes were hard and cold like ice. 

She seemed to hesitate, but matched his stare, “I would like to think I did well, but you will have to ask Reinhardt himself for the full details. He was satisfied with my performance enough that he brought me back, if nothing else. So what might that tell you?”

“That he’s a senile old man,” Morrison said, “We’ll have to see about you. I’ve done some digging into Vishkar myself, among others. I’m not sold. They’re shady as hell for all they like to boast about their light.” He crossed his arms, “You can’t do this job with other affiliations and loyalties. I’ve had that blow up in my face once, thanks. So if it comes down to it, and you’re going to choose a logo over this team, then I’d rather you just showed yourself the door. Jesus, we are desperate.”

Her hands fisted, and she didn’t back down, “That is a bridge I will cross when it comes.”

Morrison nodded once, sharply, “We’ll see. But it will be something you have to deal with.” He glanced around, “Where’s the last one, Lúcio?”

“Still headin’ back from India, I think. He’s been workin’ over there pretty much since we did the op,” Tracer said, bouncing in place. 

Morrison nodded, “Make sure what I’m about to tell you gets forwarded on, so he can meet us.” He glanced over at the door where Reinhardt had hauled Torbjörn off, “We’ll have to fill them in as well.”

“What didja have in mind for us, sir?” McCree drawled, and Hanzo realized what the cowboy had done. 

Us, he’d brought Hanzo off the sidelines and into the fold. He glanced over at the weathered face of the outlaw, smiling and eager and thought it felt a little bit like sharp edges fitting seamlessly against another broken piece. 

“A favor I owe has been called in. I was going to be heading out to help, but it’d probably be a little easier with more eyes and more weapons.”

“Sounds like a ball,” McCree grinned, “Where’re we headed, what’s the game?”

“Jesus, McCree, take it a little seriously, would you?” Morrison sighed.

“No can-do, Commander.”

“Good to see you haven’t changed. I was afraid your time off might’ve taught you something crazy, like respect.”

“I’d hate to disappoint.”

“Uh, the mission?” Winston said, glancing back and forth between them.

76 nodded, and said, “You remember Amari, right?”

Tracer blinked, “Wait, Ana?”

“I got a message from her daughter, Fareeha. We’re going to Cairo.”


	7. Cairo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Welcome to Overwatch, kid. Don’t fuck it up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this before Ana had even been announced, so she won't be in this fic, just mentioned in passing as a figure of Overwatch past. Also went ahead and added Reaper76 to the pairings because I think that's a Gordian knot I want to try tackling. 
> 
> Sadly another set up chapter, but the good news is that the next two are both fairly long and full of action!

“I was wrong,” Hanzo admitted to McCree quietly as they walked down the streets of Cairo, following Morrison quietly as he lead, navigating to the rendezvous point in a small group.

“What’s goin’ on?” The outlaw blinked at him a bit, confused.

“I thought the American Southwest was unbearably hot. I was wrong. This is much worse.”

If the American desert had been an oven, then Cairo was the surface of the sun. It was all made worse by the fact that they weren’t riding around in climate controlled limos as he had been as a young man, and whatever lodging they were likely to get would be cheaper and likely offer only slight respite. 

McCree laughed, “Yeah this is pretty bad, although it can get just as baking in some parts of the good ole American West. Be glad I guess you weren’t there at the height of summer.”

The walked down the streets towards their destination and Hanzo briefly lamented the lack of a car, but Morrison had been adamant about not taking a vehicle. Now that they had arrived he could see why. The traffic was a nightmare, there were few lines on the road and everyone seemed to be driving however they felt like, and the result was an absolute knot of cars that he didn’t dare try and reason through. 

Still, it was _hot._

“Boss, how much further?” McCree whined, and Morrison sighed.

“Jesus, Jesse. I feel like an angry father about to have to pull over. Stop asking.”

“Well you haven’t answered me yet.”

“Soon. We’ll be there soon. Shut up.”

McCree laughed softly through his teeth, and Winston’s voice came through their earpieces, _“Jesse, stop antagonizing him.”_ The gorilla was back in Gibraltar, offering recon and intel through their comms, as it was much harder for him to travel places in daylight. 

“It’s so damn easy though,” McCree whispered, knowing full well Morrison could hear every word through his own earpiece. 

_“I think he might not have the patience he used to.”_

Hanzo really ought to feel less conflicted about the cowboy pulling someone else’s ponytail, but decided ultimately that it was too hot for him to twisted up about it. 

They three would be meeting up with Reinhardt, Symmetra, and Tracer at a second location, Lúcio, who had flown in today from India at a third, and from there they were due to meet up with this Fareeha Amari. 

Morrison was running this op tightly, trying to keep careful control over as much of it as he could. Whether that was due to his military background, history as the Overwatch Strike Commander, previous penchant for working alone, bad experience, or a messy combination of all of them there was no telling. 

From the very start though, this mission seemed determined to wiggle out of his control like a fish.

When they arrived at the first rendezvous location, a quiet stretch about a mile from Cairo University, they found not only Reinhardt, Symmetra, and Tracer, as expected, but Lúcio as well, and a tall Egyptian woman Hanzo didn’t recognize.

Morrison’s steps actually faltered when he spotted them and then marched over, determined. “Good to see no one can _listen._ Jesus, could we be any more obvious and suspicious? Anyone could see us grouped up like this.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Lúcio said, grinning a little, the expression wavering as Morrison hit him with a hard unblinking stare. 

“Isn’t he that electronic music star?” The Egyptian woman asked, pointing at Lúcio.

“How the hell did you all get here?” Morrison growled.

“Jack, you forget this is my city,” she replied, and even though her posture was rigid, _military_ , she wore a small smile. Hanzo took her in, assessing, like he did any potential threat. She was slim and more athletic than muscular, though there was a thickness to her arms and legs that suggested some degree of strength training. The tattoo around her right eye was striking.

“Sorry, I guess I didn’t realize you’d be able to pull four of my operatives out from several places in Cairo because it’s ‘yours.’”

“Technically this is Giza,” She pointed out, “And keeping an eye on things is what I do. Not to mention that my mother was right. You’re getting predictable.”

Morrison sighed, and then a faint smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, “Well, it’s good to see you again, Fareeha. I think you were about… four feet tall when I saw you last.”

She snorted softly, “That’s because I was _twelve._ ”

Morrison shook his head, attention turning back to Lúcio, “Welcome to Overwatch, kid. Don’t fuck it up.”

Lúcio blinked, clearly taken aback, but Reinhardt laughed loudly and gave the young man a hard clap on his back, “Ah! A gesture of approval!”

“Is that what that was?” he asked, confused, and Tracer giggled.

“Somethin’ like it, yeah. It’s good to see you again, Fareeha.”

The Egyptian nodded, “You as well Lena. McCree, I see you still have that awful belt buckle.”

McCree grinned and tipped his hat, “Ma’am. Love the tat.”

“Reinhardt and I were catching up, he was just remembering that time you put a bullet in that Junker’s fuel tank and it blew up the entire—“

“Aaaand story time is over, how ‘bout that,” McCree interrupted.

Hanzo crouldn’t help the grin teasing at the edges of his mouth, “I would not mind hearing the rest should we have the chance.”

“Et tu, Hanzo?”

“You are all _children,”_ Morrison sighed, but that distant, fond expression on his face and shook his head, “Let’s get to business. For those of you who haven’t met her, this is Fareeha Amari.”

Fareeha snapped to attention and saluted, before relaxing and smiling, a reserved sort of expression, “Callsign: Pharah. I was never a part of Overwatch formally. My mother was one of its founding members, so I was on base a lot. These days I work for Helix, doing security work.”

Symmetra watched with interest, “Helix you said? Vishkar’s employed them several times. They did very professional work.”

“Oh you’re with Vishkar?” Pharah sounded curious, “I was on one of those ops, they were very efficient, it was nice to work with—“

“Ladies,” Morrison interrupted, rubbing between his eyes, “Can we maybe put a pin in this little idea swap? You called us here for a reason, Fareeha, and I’d like to get down to business, but maybe not corporate business.”

Pharah nodded, “Sorry, Jack. If you’re nervous about being here I know a place close by we could go. It’s one of the old Helix warehouses. All the storage was moved to a bigger facility and this one will be sold, but it’s secure and empty for now.”

“Good enough,” Morrison approved, “Get us there.”

\--

The old Helix warehouse was a massive gray cube of a facility, and standing inside of it Hanzo felt a little like he was inside an empty airplane hangar. The place had to be a quarter kilometer square and he would’ve put money on it being at last seventy meters high. He couldn’t imagine what they were going to with a bigger facility. But the important part is that it was miraculously, blessedly _cold_ inside.

“This’ll do,” Morrison said after a moment, looking around, “You’re sure it’s secure?”

“Jack,” Pharah said flatly.

“Sorry. Old habits.”

She nodded and folded her hands behind her back, unconsciously falling into parade rest. “This might not be much of an ‘op’ for Overwatch soldiers, but it’s been a growing concern of mine, and for now I can’t touch it.”

“It was enough of a concern that you activated the emergency beacon I gave your mother, way back when,” Morrison pointed out. “I owed her. So in her absence we’ll handle it.”

Pharah nodded again, chewing her lip briefly in a show of leashed anxiety. “Alright then. There’s a gang that’s been at the fringes of law enforcement’s peripherals for some time, The Rahj al-ghār. Hasn’t been given much attention yet. Kids mostly, vandalism, petty theft, small drug deals.” She  
shrugged, “Stupid children pretending to be tough, for the most part. I hadn’t even been aware of it for a long time. They’re big in terms of numbers but they’re small fry.”

“What does that mean? That name?” Symmetra asked, hands idly toying with the light at her fingertips.

“’Powder of the Mine,’ Realgar. ‘Red Arsenic,’” Pharah ticked off on her fingers. “It is a poison.”

“You think something’s wrong. That something else is going on,” 76 said. It wasn’t a question.

“No, I _know_ something is. Last month six major corporate facilities were hit all on the same night, and one freight hypertrain. All different companies. Two arms manufacturers, three pharmaceuticals, and one tech group. They would’ve hit a seventh—Helix—but my security team was able to deal with it.” She gestured around, “This is the warehouse they tried to hit, another reason for the move. It had been housing munitions.”

“Something like that takes a massive amount of manpower, planning, and intel,” Symmetra said. “It is hard enough to get just one person into a secure facility, let alone more into multiple.”

“You think the two are related. Why?”

“We took four captives during the attack, the others were killed, and possibly a few fled. The force consisted mostly of hacked Omnic units. Few actual humans. Of the men and women we captured, we managed to get the ringleader of the ground operation. The three others were kids. Under twenty five, drug marks, gang tattoos. That last one was not. This one knew what they were doing. Insider information, well planned, backed from outside. Each one of them had the gang sign for the Rahj.” She shrugged, “Either they’re being used as a front for something bigger, or they themselves are a little bit darker than people see yet.”

“Did you not turn them over to law enforcement?”

Pharah pursed her lips, “No, it was taken out of my hands. Helix won’t do anything as long as they’re hitting other people. Only one of the corporations attacked reported the incident, the others tried to keep it out of the news. More than one of these corporate presences have reached out to Helix hire our services, and we have had an increase in assignments in Cairo.”

“That’s kinda slimy, keepin’ it quiet like that,” McCree frowned. 

“The whole thing is a mess,” Pharah said, “And because I am officially employed by Helix I can’t do anything about it. I’m out on this one, but you’re all not. You can do something about this. Find out how deep and dark they are and clean up my city in my place.”

“Good!” Reinhardt boomed, “Let us clean up these streets! I cannot wait!”

“Calm down, Wilhelm,” jack sighed, “We’ll do what we can, Fareeha, but we can’t be here for months. Overwatch,” he gestured to the group, “Is little more than an international vigilante gang right now itself. We can’t wage a war on the streets against a force that might be hundreds of gangbangers deep.”

Pharah nodded, “I am not expecting you to, and if all goes as I think then you should not have to. Officially, I cannot offer aid. But,” She offered a map of the city to Jack, “All the places marked on there are Helix facilities. You get any of them within those red lines and they’re ours. We get enough of _my_ superior’s eyes on this as an ongoing threat and I can start to take over officially. We’ll be able to move on it and your job will be done.”

“You get all that Winston?” Tracer asked.

_“Sure did!”_

“Not sure putting this into corporate hands is the best idea either,” Lúcio said, frown twisting his mouth.

Pharah nodded, “I understand your hesitance, but Helix is a security focused-group. Had we a longer leash, this is what my team would prefer to be doing anyway. Most of us are ex-military, a few even old Overwatch hopefuls like myself. We want to help people, but we play by a different set of rules now. I understand the reticence to help a conglomerate like Helix, but you need to understand that this isn’t about Helix versus the Rahj, it’s about people hurting people and the possibly of hurting more people. You strip the logos off and that’s the issue at hand.”

Lúcio considered for a long moment and nodded, “Alright. I can get behind that.”

She nodded once, a short gesture, “Good. Make your arrangements to stay in town. We’ll meet in two days and I’ll pass along all the information Helix has at my security clearance to you. I’m counting on you, Overwatch.” She gave them a sharp salute.

Hanzo found himself standing a little straighter himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pshhhh What are canon ages anyway, who needs that noise.


	8. The Rahj, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “McCree?” Nothing, no response, “McCree!” He hissed urgently. “Winston, _find him_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So someone, not naming any names, thought they had already updated this like last week, again, _not naming any names_.
> 
> (sorry)
> 
> Also this is like 85% dialogue, but it should be much easier to understand.  
> Also also this is the longest chapter so far. next one's pretty long too.

Hanzo looked down from his vantage point, eying the clear street up and down, watching for movement, but at 2am local time this part of the city seemed to have quieted down to nothing. This stretch of Cairo was little more than a sprawling, nearly-dead industrial district. It was mostly filled with nearly-defunct warehouses, storage facilities, and old plants. It felt like there wasn’t a soul in miles. He knew better though, and nocked a sonic arrow, taking careful am and letting fly. The arrow was designed to shatter on impact and leave little trace of what it had been, a small echolocation chip left at its point of impact.

Hanzo had only a small degree of cyberization—a voluntary change in a slightly augmented left eye, specifically tuned to see the frequency the chip broadcast. 

The shapes of bodies around the corner flickered into his visual sensor, lurking just out of sight. 

“I count eight Rahj in position, likely waiting for the call to flank you,” He murmured, eyes keeping track of the bodies carefully. “I can probably get off a scatter shot, fell most of them. Waiting for orders.”

_“Take the shot,”_ Morrison’s voice came in. _“I’d like to have at least one of these little round ups we don’t have to herd back to Pharah.”_

_“You’re startin’ to sound like Jesse,”_ Tracer’s giggle came in.

_“God help me,”_ 76 said, voice flat and Hanzo chuckled at McCree’s indignant squawking.

_“Hey!”_

_“Hanzo, hold the shot a moment. Tracer, change in plans, Reinhardt, Symmetra, and Lúcio are having issues pushing through on their end. Need you to get over there, see if you can get a few of them to peel off and follow you._ ”

_“Can do!”_

“Is everything alright?” Hanzo asked, holding the arrow steady, watching the shapes beyond move, knowing the chip from the sonic arrow wouldn’t last for much longer.

_“The weapons storehouse wasn’t as empty as we’d thought, whatever McCree managed to lure away wasn’t as many as we hoped. Place is crawling.”_ Lúcio said.

_“The hell?”_ McCree grouched, indignant, _“I’ve got like seven a’ these bastards tailin’ me. How the hell did that happen? Where the fuck are they all comin’ from?”_

“If I do not take this shot I am going to lose it,” Hanzo warned.

_“Security has been stepped up from the three repositories we hit last week,”_ Symmetra said, _“They’re aware that these incidents have not been isolated. There was probably another group waiting nearby for a notification of trouble.”_

_“They’re catching onto us,”_ Reinhardt shouted loudly, having not quite caught on he didn’t always need to yell to be heard. 

_“Take the shot, Hanzo,”_ 76 allowed.

“My glimpse at them has faded, take it anyway?”

_“Yes, and get eyes over there again, ASAP.”_

Hanzo let the arrow fly, whipped out a second sonic arrow and sent that out as well, holding his breath. The sonic frequency emitted just in time for him to see most of the men fall as the scatter shot split and bounced. “Potential problem. Counted eight hostiles and I count only seven down. One is missing.”

_“Trade your seven for these seven,”_ McCree groused and Hanzo heard gunshots beyond the earpiece, and what did it say about him that he could tell it was the Peacekeeper?

_“Jesse, do you need backup?”_ 76 asked.

_“Fuck off, Jack,”_ McCree bit off, panting, breathless with exertion. _“I got this.”_

_“Hanzo, Jesse may need back up,"_ Morrison said tiredly, _"Get over there and find your missing man, but be ready to peel if I give the order.”_

_“I said fuck—“_ There was louder gunfire, the distinct six-shot of McCree emptying his chambers in rapid fire, fanning the hammer, _“—off!”_

_“McCree you were the closest Overwatch ever came to one-shot-one-kill, what the hell is the problem?”_

_“I’m fucking firing over my shoulder, Jack! They’re keeping me moving! Been landing body shots but the fuckers have some sort of energy-based body armor like Symmetra. Only managed to get two so far. I’m handling it!”_

Hanzo was already racing from rooftop to rooftop, vaulting between buildings, listening tensely to the argument buzzing in his ear. He was torn between hoping Jack would give the order, and wanting McCree to not need him to. “McCree, once I have secured this last hostile I can head over and be your eyes behind you. Help set up your shots.”

He didn’t want to rush over and _save_ McCree like he was helpless. He wanted to help McCree save himself to come out in one piece. 

_“Now that sounds like a mighty fine—Whoa there!”_ More shots and Hanzo held his breath before McCree picked up the sentence like nothing happened, _“—Compromise, Partner.”_

_“Do that then if you’ve actually gotten his compliance,”_ Jack agreed. _“Just get this done. My hostiles are down, I’m heading to the storehouse to help. Things keep going to hell. Pharah wasn’t kidding about their numbers.”_

Hanzo hopped up on the edge of a roof, overlooking the narrow street where his scatter arrow had wreaked havoc. Seven were down, four Omnic units, three humans—two men, one woman—where was the last?

He leapt down, boots absorbing the impact and stalked through the mess. No one would find them till the morning, this part of the city far removed from the urban bustle and rather quiet. It had been a good place for the Rahj to store their stolen supply of arms and munitions, tech and pharmaceuticals. 

He kept an arrow nocked and a sound at his right had him whirling, looking for the disturbance. He found nothing at first, and considered perhaps it was only a rat or some kind of vermin, loose in the refuse caught at the edges of the street, but then he heard a soft frightened sound, definitely human, and stepped forward. 

Illumination was bad in this part of Cairo, and the night was dark. He activated the glow sights on his Storm Bow, creating a small bubble of light as he searched and found the missing hostile. 

He lowered the bow. 

A boy—not a young man even, but a boy—was huddled against a wall, pressed flat against a dumpster, trying desperately to shift out of sight. He looked up at Hanzo with wide, scared eyes. He couldn’t have been any older than fifteen, and already there was a splash of chemical burn on his hands and the Rahj symbol was plain on his arm. There was no redemption or honor left to hunt here. 

“Last hostile down,” He murmured for the earpiece, watching, and turned and left, hoping perhaps the boy would take this second chance and get out while he could.

He had more important things besides one remaining child.

“McCree, what’s your status?” he whispered urgently, racing up the side of a building, looking around once he had the vantage.

_“Shitty! One a’ them fuckers got a bullet in my prosthesis an’ its spittin’ hydraulic fluid every-goddamn-where. Oh I stopped a put a bullet between his eyes, you better believe it.”_

Hanzo let out a breath, his anxiety loosening. If he was able to complain so colorfully then he was likely in as good as shape as one could hope for. “Winston, can you get me to him? Where is he?”

_“Hang on, let me see where his GPS is pinging—“_

_“GPS? What GPS—Winston, did you microchip me like a goddamn dog?”_

_“….Maybe?”_

_“You Godamn—Shit!”_ There was gunfire, loud even over the diminished sounds of the earpiece. Not the Peacekeeper, too rapid, too many shots. Hanzo’s heart hammered in his chest with a sudden spike of fear. 

“McCree?” Nothing, no response, “McCree!” He hissed urgently. “Winston, _find him_.”

_“I’m trying but whatever damaged his arm is interfering with the chip installed in it. I can’t—wait! Got him. Hanzo he’s four blocks to your north. He’s not moving.”_

Hanzo said nothing immediately, racing as fast as he could, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Already on his way. “Is he—?” he couldn’t finish the sentence.

_“No way to tell. Hurry.”_

Hanzo did, heart in his throat, covering the distance in minutes, “Is he close?”

_“You’re almost there, next street, about fifty meters to your left—“_

Hanzo dashed right up to the edge, looking down frantically. The body he saw first, slumped against the side of the building coursed adrenaline through him, but his sharp eyes quickly picked up dark skin and hair, ragged clothes, no serape or hate—not McCree. A red, dripping hole right between the eyes.

The shouting had him looking further down. 

There was McCree.

Alive, unharmed.

Hanzo felt the knot of anxiety loosen in his chest.

But the cowboy wasn’t safe either. 

He stood in the middle of the street, stock still, hands raised, mechanical arm visibly mangled even from this distance, his Peacekeeper dangling from his forefinger as if to be useless, but Hanzo knew better. Had seen how fast McCree could whip his six-shooter into position and nail a perfect headshot from a distance Hanzo would’ve said before was better suited to his bow. 

By the looks of things the thugs knew it too. McCree was surrounded, Rahj on all sides, again more omnics, three humans, AKs pointed at him front and back. The gang member in front of him was gesturing at his gun and shouting. Hanzo didn’t understand a single word of Cairene Arabic, but he would’ve bet that he was yelling for McCree to drop the weapon. Why weren’t they just shooting him outright?

He’d also bet money that there was almost no force on earth that would make McCree drop that gun if he didn’t want to. 

Some of the Rahj behind stepped closer, weapons trained on the cowboy. They were rapidly losing patience. 

“Jesse,” Hanzo hissed, knowing the earpiece would pick it up, “Trust me for a moment. Do not move. Not one centimeter.”

The hand holding the dangling weapon shifted, just a little twitch, but Hanzo was sharp-eyed and watching him like a hawk. For an instant, his fingers curled and his thumb extended. Thumbs up. Go for it.

Hanzo nocked a scatter arrow and took a precious handful of seconds to figure through his shot. He needed to be sure he wasn’t going to hit McCree, but he had to hit everyone else. 

The Rahj armed his weapon, patience ending, and Hanzo let fly. 

The scatter arrow hit its mark, fractured and bounced around the alley, blue streaks and flashes of ricocheting projectiles filling the narrow street, flying around McCree like rain. Each of the Rahj fell, grunting in pain and crying out as the shrapnel bolts from his arrow punctured straight through their shields and pierced into their bodies, leaving them dead or nearly, bleeding out onto the quiet street. 

In the center McCree stood perfectly still, unharmed.

Hanzo leapt, dropping down and hurrying over, “Are you alright?”

The cowboy flashed him a bright, if tired grin, “That was plum, fuckin’ incredible, Partner. How the hell did ya _do_ that?”

Hanzo shrugged a bit, “Simple geometry.”

McCree grinned at him, the expression soft and unspeakably fond with an emotion Hanzo did not wish to dwell on, or name. “You are somethin’ else, you know that? Thanks for the save. Assholes led me right into a damn ambush. I am rusty as hell at some a’ this.”

“We need to get back, they’re having trouble at the repository. Your arm is damaged but can you still fire?”

“Live hand is fine, I’m still good to fight, let’s get movin’” He declared and Hanzo turned, opening his mouth to ask Winston to navigate them there when McCree’s flesh hand came down on his shoulder. “You called me by name.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow, “McCree? I call you by name all the time.”

“Nah, _Jesse_. Ya called me Jesse.”

The archer blinked, raising an eyebrow, “I did?” Oh, he had.

McCree’s grin was soft and bright and out of place in this stolen moment in a battle of gang warfare. “I liked it. Should keep doin’ it.”

Hanzo’s mouth worked, unsure what to say.

_“You boys need a room or are you gonna get your fucking asses over here and give us some back up?”_ 76’s voice came growling down the comm, and the moment was gone, both left with a faint flush to their faces. 

“We’re en route. Winston?”

_“Five hundred meters up and take the right!”_

\--

“Three ahead, one in the open two on the roof,” Hanzo hissed, steps slowing as they ran, but McCree practically pushed into him, hand closing around his arm, keeping them running forward.

“Got another two on our tail. Don’t stop.”

“I heard when they joined us,” He glanced up at McCree, at flashed a slightly feral grin. “Do you still want me to set your shots for you, cowboy?”

McCree blinked and grinned broadly, that generous mouth stretching, “Oh I would be _much_ obliged, darlin’.”

Hanzo didn’t even protest the stupid endearment, just jumped and scaled the wall next to him like a cat, bow coming out, to counter the shooters above. One silent shot dropped the first with a dull thud and not even a cry. He drew an arrow to take the second. “Your tails are at four and eight, closing fast, first is under six feet tall, second is just over, by your stupid Imperial system.”

The Peacemaker came out and McCree whipped around, doing a fast turn without stopping, gun swinging in a wide arc around, popping two shots, nailing both between their eyes in a perfect display of marksmanship. A memory tugged impatiently at his thoughts, the sight of McCree at the Rikimaru years ago, brandishing the peacekeeper. What had he been doing there?

“Ahead, first has drawn his weapon, watch for fire, on your three as you come around.” Hanzo drew back and shot, taking the second sniper on the roof, this one dropping with a frizz of static as the arrow punched through the omnic’s head. 

“Got ‘im,” McCree assured and there was a sharp sound echoing down the street and the assailant dropped. 

Hanzo leapt to the next roof, watching the street, McCree jogging below. “How much farther?” the cowboy panted, the sound from the street doubled by the earpiece.

_“You’re closing in, 100 meters and the next left.”_

“I can hear it,” Hanzo said, firing off an arrow and felling a Rahj holding a lookout on a corner building, knocking him clear over the edge. It was dulled by direction and distance, but he could hear shouting and the telltale sound of gunfire, the pop of 76’s helix rockets overtop.

McCree dashed around the corner and swore loudly, leaping back and rolling over his shoulder just as Reinhardt flew past, rocket engine firing at full, smashing an armed guard in an exoskeleton against a concrete wall, “Holy shit!” Hanzo spared a glance, made sure the American was in one piece and hadn’t gotten clipped by the crusader’s charge. He then turned his bow towards the guard Reinhardt had taken out, but he was dead, the crumpled armor a mangled mess of metal caging his body. 

There had been a few of those at the places they hit earlier. Mostly full of the sort of scum he’d expect to lurking around as part of a gang, there were just a few true professionals in their midst. Enough to keep the solid assurance that there was something more at work. 

“You are late, friends!” Reinhardt boomed, hefting the rocket hammer over his shoulder. “We are cleaning up the stragglers. Join us!”

McCree was moaning about being off on a run-around while they had all the fun and Hanzo leapt down to join them, sprinting over. McCree reached out without even looking at him, touched his arm for a split second, as if confirming his presence and then dropping his hand. “That’s really all there is to it?”

“Tracer has a few left I think she’s bamboozled,” Reinhardt said, heading back towards the repository, “But she’s a strong one, she can handle it!”

_“Aw, thanks love!”_ Tracer’s infectious chirp came through the comms. 

“Satya was nearly indispensable! She slipped around and set up a _teleporter_! Right into the center!” Reinhardt exulted, clearly excited from the fight. “It was _amazing!_ ”

_“Simple design,”_ Symmetra chimed in, smug.

_“Like her head needs to be any more inflated, Big Guy,”_ Lúcio grumbled, his distrust a lingering presence. 

“Sorry I missed it,” McCree chuckled, lighting up a cigar.

“Next time, my friend!”

They walked in behind the German, Winston in their ear, _“Athena’s been monitoring incoming calls to law enforcement. You’ll need to wrap this up soon.”_

Morrison was coming out, followed by Symmetra and Lúcio, red visor flashing, faceless in his combat gear. His shoulders were slumped, discouraged and he was swearing, “God-fucking-dammit.”

“Everything okay boss? Thought we won?” McCree called out.

“We did,” 76 said with a tired huff of breath, “But everything in here belongs to Esper International who is under contract with Helix right now. You know what that means?”

McCree snickered, “Call Pharah?”

“Call Pharah. Just _once_ I wanted to do this without having to bring her in.”

The cowboy and even Hanzo felt a slight twitch of involuntary amusement at his own mouth. He heard McCree offering halfhearted, laughing comfort, ‘try a little harder next time then, old timer,’ and moved behind them, checking for stragglers that might rush forward. 

This was a small building to have such a heavy guard, smaller than the nest of Rahj they’d first hit when they arrived in Cairo. It was strange for it to have been so well-defended. “Have you checked the supplies? What was being kept here?”

“Not yet,” Morrison called, the sound fading into comm broadcast as he moved away and walked deeper, looking around. _“Just saw the logo stamped on everything. Place was half empty though. Whatever was here they’d already started to move.”_

_“The hell were there so many of them for?”_ McCree grouched. 

_“I think that they predicted this would be our next hit is a good assumption,”_ Morrison sighed. _“We handled it for now, but Fareeha was right. I’m getting predictable. Shame about all of this. Some of them were young and too stupid to know better.”_

_“Can’t always play it non-lethal,”_ Winston said, morose, _“We were lucky we spared as many as we did the last week. It was only a matter of time before they pushed back and left us without an alternative.”_

Movement caught his eye as someone pushed out a side exist, something carried under one arm. He caught only indistinct features—dark clothes, dark hair, well-kept, not Rahj—and adrenaline swooped through him. Without thinking he followed, bow sweeping around, arrow slipping fluidly into position. He burst out the door to follow, seeing the runner sprinting like a mad thing, hurrying away.

“One was missed, he’s taking something out of the building, I am pursuing,” Hanzo said into the comm. 

_“Hold up! Let me back you up, we don’t know if there are more around!”_ McCree’s worried call came through.

_“Hanzo, we’re on our way, wait for backup.”_

But it was one man and he did neither. Hanzo could handle one man. 

He pulled back and fired, following his shot up, racing forward. The runner was struck straight through the throat, he stumbled as he dropped, whatever he was holding falling from his grasp and the body landed hard on it.

Dimly Hanzo heard a high pitched tone and a click as the device armed. He had only a moment of adrenaline and _panic_ before there was a hard pulse that knocked him back.

He slammed into a wall, head cracking against the concrete—

His vision swam and he heard slow footsteps, sight darkening at the edges. He thought he saw shadows taking form around him but it was all so _dark_ —A hand grabbed the back of his collar and he could’ve sworn there were claws that scratched his skin. 

Slowly his vision went black and he knew no more. 

\--

Hanzo woke slowly, aware only of broad strokes of unclear sensation at first. He was dark. Things were quiet. His arms hurt. He was alone. 

Slowly, more came as his mind surfaced from a fog. His hands hurt because they were bound behind him. There was a gag tight around his mouth, biting into the corners. His bow was nowhere. 

He was captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. HTML. Thingies.
> 
> Also a reminder that this is AU from the mini comic "Old Soldiers." No Ana here, and I'm ignoring something else too.


	9. The Rahj, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What? No, you’ve gotta say it. It’s awesome, Captain."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to have this up like, Saturday, but I realized the most recent version of my main document was on my word computer. Soooo had to wait till I could get it today.

This was not the first time Hanzo had woken in dire straits. It was not even the worst. That could be afforded to the time he’d woken chained inside a car the yakuza had run off a bridge. You didn’t hunt wrongdoers over Asia and not come out with a few enemies. 

Still, he was good enough that this happened fortunately very infrequently, but he hadn’t come this far without learning a few tricks. 

He sat up and looked around, taking stock. The room was small and dark, but his eyes could pick out shapes and the basic layout. Probably a walk-in closet. It was narrow, no windows, cement floor and concrete walls. He turned his head back and forth slowly, testing his range of motion and trying to see if he could hear anything in one direction greater than another. 

There was a slight sound of people talking, but they weren’t right outside and by and large the place was silent. Even if they were close, he wouldn’t be able to understand them. Mentally, he added Arabic to the next language he tackled. This was frustrating. 

There was no sight of his Storm Bow, and the comm piece in his ear was gone. But they had left him his boots. Fools. 

He knew the rest of Overwatch would be looking for him, and he was a little embarrassed at himself at the flush of absolute _certainty_ that accompanied that thought. They would not leave him behind. McCree was going to give him such a hard time about this. 

He shimmied backwards until his back hit a wall and pressed against it, activated the suction on his boots and stood slowly, bracing for support. He stretched a bit, trying to loosen his back, then primed his boots and jumped, bringing his feet up and tight to his chest and swinging his bound arms under him and in front. They’d only zip-tied his wrists. They should’ve tied his whole forearms together. Fareeha was right, most of the people were amateurs. 

Still, that made being captured by them all the more _embarrassing_. 

Ten years ago this would’ve gotten him killed. 

He reached up and pulled the gag from his mouth and spat, trying to clear his mouth of the taste of dirty cotton and worked his jaw, attempting to wet his dry tongue. 

There were steps outside, approaching, and he tilted his head to better hear the sound. They were quick and light, nervous. He discarded an Overwatch team member; he would’ve heard Tracer’s Chronal Accelerator over her footsteps and Symmetra he wouldn’t have heard at all. Lúcio would be the sound of his roller blades, and Reinhardt, Morrison, and McCree were right out. 

The footsteps stopped outside his door and there was the faint jingling of keys, awkward and uncoordinated, and he heard several soft exhalations that were like Cairene swears. He shifted and sat back down, keeping his tied hands in front of him. The position was wrong, but he was confident he could overpower any single Rahj that stepped into this room.

Then the door was unlocking and light poured in. He squinted, eyes adjusting slowly, and blinked. He found himself staring into the wide-eyed face of the boy he’d left alive on the street. 

The Egyptian said something that Hanzo didn’t understand and the archer shook his head. The boy fidgeted, looking behind him nervously and then pulled a knife out of his pocket, unfolding the blade. 

Hanzo narrowed his eyes, ready to roll back and kick out should the knife come for his flesh, but the boy just darted forward and cut the tie on his wrist, jumping back quickly, likely realizing Hanzo may very well strike first and ask questions later. There were no questions about who was the more dangerous one in the room. 

Hanzo rubbed his wrists, easing at the pins and needles at sudden blood flow back to his skin, and watched his surprise rescuer warily. 

The boy looked around, clearly at a loss and then pantomimed a bow and arrow and pointed at him. 

Hanzo nodded eagerly. 

The Rahj boy thought for a moment, glancing behind him at the door and then gestured two rights, a left, and a last right, held up three fingers, and gestured left. 

Hanzo nodded, committing it to memory. The boy tossed him the keyring. The rush of _pride_ he felt was intoxicating. He’d been hunting and killing evil men he remembered and tracked from his days as part of the Shimada family, secure in the knowledge that he was doing good, and working to redeem himself. Madurai too was something of a revelation, to see the good he’d done affect so many. To have tangible proof that his actions had been to the benefit of others.

But this was something new. To have done an act of kindness, and to have the person affected stand in front of him, so moved that he in turn paid that kindness back.

It was a new feeling. 

And this boy reminded him, frighteningly, of McCree. Just a kid who’d cast in his lot with the wrong sort for bad reasons. Trying to work, to earn prestige, to be dangerous, get stronger—the list was likely endless and his chest felt tight and uncomfortable as he drew the parallel. Hanzo didn’t want to just leave it and reached out, knocking a closed fist against the gang tattoo on his arm and shook his head. Trying to somehow convey that this boy should run and never look back. 

The boy nodded and reached up, tracing an X over the tattoo, as if marking it out and Hanzo relaxed, clapping him on his shoulder. Then he said something in Cairene and turned and hurried out, likely looking to make his own escape. 

Hanzo had to get his bow first. He wasn’t leaving without it. 

The bow itself was irreplaceable. A mesh of traditional and mechanical, it had been cobbled together first out of necessity and fine-tuned and remade piece by piece over more than a decade of use. Even the katana he’d trained with when he was part of the Shimada clan was never as much a part of him as the Storm Bow. Somehow, after all this time he’d managed to keep it, through even the most difficult of his hardships.

To lose it now would be to lose a piece of himself.

He glanced up and down the hall, finding it empty. Something that opened up opportunity and worried him by equal turns. Why wasn’t he being guarded? What had happened that this place was empty enough that a child could steal the keys to his room and get away, leaving the place open enough for a captive to explore?

It didn’t sit right and almost as if cued a warbled alarm rang through the building and he ducked back to the door, letting it swing nearly closed, just a crack, watching. Four people ran past, all younger, rougher. Rahj, likely. So wherever he was it was another of their installations. Not that of whoever was backing them or working behind them.

Likely this was better for Hanzo. Less dangerous. Or so he hoped.

Once the hall was clear he slipped out, closing the door and locking it. If someone came to check on him, then getting it open would waste precious seconds for them. He traversed carefully, peering around corners. 

Two right turns first, he remembered, moving slowly down empty halls, his adrenaline climbing even in the absence of a threat. He took a left and then a right, but as he peered down the last hall he spotted his first real hitch.

Three fingers and a left point—third door on the left. 

There were two guards in front of it. 

One was dressed in black: black clothes, black equipment, one of the ‘professionals’, some sort of special forces. He seemed to be ignoring the second, which was another Rahj, slumped against the opposite wall, an AK held loosely and without respect in one hand, gesticulating as he talked. That there were only two left here considering the sheer number of people they’d fought at the repository he took it as a pretty clear indicator that most of their numbers were elsewhere.

He weighed his options, watching them a moment before ducking out of sight. If he ran straight down the hall there was a good chance the professional could land his shot and end him quickly, he wasn’t worried about the Rahj, but knew that a wild spray from the weapon would be hard to predict. 

But he didn’t have a lot of options. 

He primed his boots, took a deep steady breath, and rushed.

He heard their exclamations as they saw him, the guns came up and he swerved, running up and along the wall, boots clinging and pushing with each dashing step, their fire leaving shards and cracks in the floor, trying to follow him up and around but he was quick and reached them before they found their mark. 

Hanzo grabbed the Rahj, held him in front as the professional’s shots punched into his chest and he screamed before twitching and sagging, dead. He struck out, boot priming and _releasing_ as he made contact with the professional’s body, smashing him into the wall so hard there was a _crack_ from his skull and a red smear on the wall as he dropped to the floor.

Hanzo dropped the body of the Rahj and looked over the door, pulling out the keys given to him and unlocking it. 

Hanzo’s eyes landed on the Storm bow and he nearly sagged with the relief that flooded his blood. He lifted it and made a cursory check, found it working, all their parts where they should be. His quiver was even nearby, though there were but few arrows left. He would need to make more soon. 

But that was not all there was in this room. Several stacks of papers and folders were arranged with varying degrees of organization and full filing cabinets lined the walls, computer terminals lining one corner, but what really caught his eyes was that it was all labeled in English and not Arabic Script. 

He looked over a few of them, eyes narrowing as he saw figures and numbers, labels of shipments and supplies that far outweighed even what Pharah had described when she brought them on. She’d been right, something big was going on. This room was full of records. Incriminating ones. 

A word caught his eye, used specifically like a name or a brand, ‘Talon’, and he remembered the vehemence that McCree had hissed that word when he’d first arrived at Gibraltar those weeks ago. _Talon_. He needed to get out of here and tell them.

He was surprised, flipping another folder open to see a grainy picture of himself and a largely empty file. Grouped with it were similar files for Lúcio and 76 and Symmetra, but Reinhardt, Tracer, and McCree had significantly more data, and clearer pictures. Older too, from before. From Overwatch, he realized. This explained why McCree wasn’t killed immediately and why he’d been _captured_ instead of just immediately killed.

Talon _knew_ Overwatch. Perhaps wanted something with them.

He needed to get out here. They were in danger. 

The building _shook_ and a second set of alarms blared, but he didn’t hear any more steps approaching. He shouldered his bow and grabbed the Overwatch operative folders, and slipped them in his shirt, tucked into his belt. Time to go. 

He slipped out of the room but a faint noise from down the next hall had an arrow in his fingers, bow drawn. Someone was here. Someone nearly silent. Perhaps one of the strange special forces. If there was one around here, there were likely more. 

There was another soft sound right around corner and he tensed and whirled around, bow coming out, ready—

—and found a photon projector pointed at his face. 

They held like that a moment and Hanzo blinked, “Symmetra?”

She sighed heavily and then to his surprise swore at him in Tamil and hauled back with her bionic arm and hit him on his bare shoulder, “You complete fool!”

He hissed. That had _hurt_. “What was that for?”

“For getting caught,” She tilted her head and spoke clearly for a comm, “I’ve found him. He’s unharmed.” She winced a bit at something she was hearing, “Well then you— _Silence_. You can tell him yourself when we’re clear.”

“How did you find me?”

She smirked, “McCree wasn’t the only one Winston microchipped.”

Hanzo’s brows drew together, _when—?_ Then he remembered the ape had taken a look at his boots before they’d departed for Cairo. “That damn, dirty—“

The building shook again, rocked through its foundation and they both slipped, hitting the wall.

That one had felt like an explosion, like a _bomb_.

“What’s going on out there?” 

“Our rescue attempt,” She muttered, “they were not in the mood to heed my advice and do it quietly. You have some very good friends, Mr. Shimada. They even called in our friend from Helix.”

If Pharah and possibly others of her team were here that would more than explain the explosions. He’d only gotten to see her fight once, when they’d run a group of Rahj onto Helix property, but she had been a force to be reckoned with. 

“How do we get out? Do you have a plan?”

“Hmph,” she made a soft derisive sound, “As if I would’ve come this far without one.” She moved gracefully, sinuously, dancing slowly as she drew light from the cell in her bionic arm, building it slowly, giving it form and shape. She laid it on the ground like a star and a shimmer of energy appeared over it, like a hole in space. “Teleporter is online. The path is open.”

Then she grabbed his arm and shoved, pushing him through the device she constructed, and Hanzo was fairly certain she called him something rude in Tamil as the world reconstructed around him. 

The change from still basement air to light desert wind was disconcerting, and when his feet touched back to the floor he found them on the roof. Symmetra stepped through after him. “Could you not take us further?” He asked.

She crossed her arms, irritated, “There is too much going on down there. I could not construct the exit safely and expect it to stay activated.”

A man suddenly landed next to him wearing a Helix _raptora_ suit. Since he’d first seen one he’d thought they looked like one of the heroes from those mecha shows Genji always used to watch as a child. 

The man saluted them and tilted his head, clearly speaking into a communicator, “Hold fire, I have them. Clearing the premises.”

“Right on time,” Symmetra said, approving. 

“I’m Lieutenant Saleh, Helix Security. I’ll get you out but we’ve got to go _now_.” He grabbed Hanzo and Symmetra around their middles, “Watch the rockets, do _not_ let go.” He spoke next for the comm, “Moving off, area clear in five—“

Hanzo’s hands gripped at the armored exoskeleton for purchase, as the boosters mounted on the back of the suit like wings churned and pulsed, shooting them up into the sky and holding altitude, descending only slowly. Fire from below chased them through the air and he glanced down, the yard in front of the fortified building a mess of dead omnics, Rahj, and a smattering of those dangerous black-clad forces, putting up a better fight from behind strategic cover. 

He heard a different kind of gunfire that had him looking around the ground wildly, slower, deliberate— _the peacekeeper_ —Was McCree here? He saw the spiral of a set of Helix rockets like the weapon Morrison had liberated. A loud shout—louder than the gunfire drew his eyes and he saw Reinhardt in his Crusader set up before the friendly forces, his great, glimmering barrier blocking incoming fire. A flicker of blue that had to be Tracer caught his eyes in an afterimage and was gone. They were _here_. They really had come. 

“All clear, Captain, your turn.” Saleh was saying and there was a beat, “What? No, you’ve gotta say it. It’s _awesome_ , Captain. Please? I’ll get dinner this time.” He grinned broadly at whatever he was hearing, “You’re the best.”

Another of the Helix personnel dropped from a higher position, rockets casting golden reflections on the blue armor, the faceplate curved and sharp like a bird of prey. _Pharah_. He remembered that _raptora_. She held position a moment before the mechanisms of her wings opened and a barrage of missiles shot out and carpet bombed the offending forces on the ground.

“Rocket barrage incoming! _Justice Rains from Above!_ ”

Below them most of the Rahj and collaborating forces were wiped out and Selah landed carefully, setting them down. Others in _raptora_ armor were moving forward, laying down suppressing fire with rockets, pushing them back with pulse explosives. 

He was very glad to be on the ground again. 

“Move back behind the line,” Liutenant Selah was instructing, pointing at them. “Stay clear of fire!” Then his rockets flared and he was airborne again, back into the fight.

So they did, and he wanted nothing more than to be _done_ with Egypt.

”Hanzo!” 

He looked up in time to catch sight of flickering red fabric and a brown hat in the pitiful glow of the streetlamps and he sagged a bit with relief. McCree. This was new as well. Coming through hell and having someone glad to see him when he got back. Usually after brushes with death he went to ground for a few weeks and licked his wounds. Symmetra made a soft noise and said something that sounded a lot like, _‘good luck’_.

He paid her no mind. It was almost a good feeling, walking forward, knowing he had people waiting for him. Watching that stupid cowboy running towards him. “McCree—“ But the outlaw didn’t stop and hit him like a train, arms going around him, head dropping against his shoulder, Serape flowing behind, Hanzo could feel the tickle of hair against his cheek and neck. Hanzo had never been less sure of what to do in his life.

“You fuckin’ _idiot_ ,” McCree said, voice heavy with relief, “You just goddamn _vanished_. Was fuckin’ worried we’d find ya _dead_.”

“McCree,” Hanzo murmured, and then said again, “Jesse,” hands coming up uncertainly to rest on the backs of his shoulders. 

“You disappeared in _minutes_ , Partner,” he said into Hanzo’s clothed shoulder. “When Jack and I got out there you were gone. Just a shredded dead guy with an arrow in his neck on top a’ some kinda pulse mine wreckage. No fuckin’ clue where you’d gone.”

Hanzo wasn’t sure what to say, “It was—“ he remembered shadows and claws, vaguely, and dismissed them as head-trauma.

McCree was pulling back, just enough to look at him, arms still wrapped around him, “You scared the hell outta me,” he whispered, hand coming up and cupping his cheek, and for the life of him Hanzo could not look away from his eyes. 

“Hanzo!”

McCree glanced at someone behind them, the stare broken, mouth twisting in a frown and huffed out a sigh before turning back to Hanzo, “We ain’t done.”

McCree was confusing, and it was doing things in the vicinity of his chest and stomach. 

Jack was approaching, that red visor blazing, the HUD shimmering, his rifle held across his chest, “I thought for sure we’d be recovering a corpse.”

“Glad to disappoint in this case,” Hanzo said, allowing the faint smile at the corner of his mouth to appear. The cowboy’s hand dropped but he couldn’t quite bring himself to step out of McCree’s space. 

“You and me both,” 76 sighed. “With you both out we need to move back. Pharah’s team has disconnected their HUD cameras as a favor to us, but Helix isn’t going to buy that for long. We’ve gotta be gone before they start demanding answers.”

“Wait,” Hanzo said and shifted, pulling his shirt away from his chest to find what he’d taken.

“Uh,” McCree seemed to be staring a bit. 

Hanzo pulled out the folders and offered them to Morrison. “You need to see this first. Tell Pharah they need to look for an information room inside.”

Morrison took the folders, brows creasing as a telltale sign of the likely frown hidden by his mask. “What is—“ he cut off as he opened them, and started flipping through urgently. “This came from in there?”

Hanzo nodded, “They were keeping records of supply movements and personnel as well. Pharah was right, this operation is huge. Whoever ‘Talon’ is—“

“Wait, didja say ‘Talon’?” McCree growled, posturing going rigid, the fight in him kicking in again after whatever relief he had at Hanzo’s return.

“Were we mentioned elsewhere?” 76 said quietly.

“If there was other mention of Overwatch it was where I didn’t see it. I didn’t have time for more than a cursory check.”

76 glanced upward, finding that suit of blue armor unerringly, “Pharah, you copy that?” he nodded to himself, listening to her answer. “Got it. Alright, boys and girls, let’s wrap it up! Pull back now. No, Reinhardt. Out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well huh. 
> 
> I wonder where that Ghost went?


	10. Wrap-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The international vigilante gang will strike again it looks like."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sadly, another sort-of filler chapter, but there are some good hints of where the Overwatch Crew is going next, and who they'll be meeting. 
> 
> Not gonna lie, I'm excited about the next few chapters after this.

Hanzo would admit he’d spent an embarrassing portion of the next two days asleep, locked in his room at Morrison’s safe house, exhausted from the battle and his captivity, and if he was asleep he didn’t have to deal with McCree’s lingering stares and too-warm brown eyes. When he wasn’t sleeping he had been crafting more arrows, basic ones for now. Anything more complicated would have to wait till they returned to Gibraltar, as he lacked the electronic bits needed for scatter and sonic arrows. He felt bad, dodging more than a few efforts by the other Overwatch members to celebrate his escape and their success, but he mostly just wanted to be by himself. 

It was a gross failure on his part, being taken unawares like that. It was a mistake that should’ve cost him his life—would’ve if he had not had others around to notice his absence. It galled him a bit, as much as he was grateful for it. He should’ve been better. He should not have allowed himself to be distracted so, lured in by this unspoken promise of community and belonging like he’d never really known. But he knew for certain now that it was dangerous to be lulled into a false sense of security by it. To be distracted by them. By _him_. 

Even alone though, the memory of the cowboy lingered. His grin, the sight of fingers and mouth curling around those cigars he favored. He thought of the way he’d embraced him, that tall form, cloaked and armored thought it was, pressed against him warm and smelling of cigar and gun smoke. He succumbed twice, McCree’s gentle twang filling his thoughts as he stroked himself. God but it was good. Something about the cowboy made him feel desperate for every touch, and his thoughts spun hot and out of his control. 

As he lay in the aftermath though, and his mind settled, he remembered the way McCree had fought. That pinpoint marksmanship. Again his mind turned over the question that had bobbed in and out of concern. Why had he been at the Rikimaru?

And then, two days later, Pharah came through, and whatever introspection he’d been stewing in had to be set on the backburner. 

They met her again in the same empty Helix warehouse. At Morrison’s insistence, they arrived in pairs at separate intervals, and Hanzo walked in with Reinhardt. McCree, Tracer, Symmetra and Lúcio were there already, speaking quietly to Pharah, the Egyptian looking almost unassuming out of her _Raptora_ now that he’d seen her in action. 

Morrison would be the last to arrive, by design. The old soldier’s paranoia a constant force. 

Pharah nodded at Hanzo as he walked over, “Good to see you up and around. We were worried we weren’t going to find you alive.”

Hanzo nodded, “I was grateful for the rescue.”

“We were glad to be there!” Tracer chirped and Lúcio nodded.

“I was freaking _out_ , man.”

“Think we all were,” McCree said, and Hanzo pretended like he hadn’t noticed the cowboy’s stare on him the whole time. 

Reinhardt’s hand came down hard on his shoulder, but at this point he nearly expected it, “Have some faith! I knew he’d be fine!”

Lúcio grinned, “Don’t lie now, Big Guy, you were almost the most antsy of all.”

Reinhardt pouted at him, “You were not supposed to tell him.”

“What that you’re a big softy? Think that secret’s out,” Lúcio elbowed him, grinning up.

Tracer laughed, “If one of the new guys has already figured it out, s’not a very good secret, Reinhardt.”

“Bah!” He waved them off, “Pick on me if you must!” he grinned at Hanzo though. “We should celebrate! Lúcio,” he waved his hand at him, “You agree, ja?”

The musician grinned, watching Reinhardt get worked up, “Course I do, but we’ve kinda gotta keep workin’ here.”

“Actually you don’t,” Pharah said, “But I’ll probably want to wait till Jack gets here. If I start talking without him he’s going to get even _more_ irritable.”

Lúcio grinned, “We certainly don’t want to piss off Mr. 76 himself.”

“Why aren’t we pissing off 76?” Morrison himself growled, stalking in. He never wore his visor or jacket when he wasn’t operating ‘officially’ as the faceless vigilante, but the grizzled man with his scarred face and shock of white hair was intimidating without them. 

Lúcio elbowed Reinhardt, “You could have told me he was _behind_ me.”

Reinhardt grinned, “Payback.”

“That was supposed to be your cue to _answer me_ ,” Morrison growled. 

“Ease up on them Jack,” Fareeha said, “We were waiting for you. That’s all.”

“Well I’m here, let’s hear it.” As always, Morrison seemed to be no-nonsense. 

“Congratulations, of sorts,” Pharah said, “Your tenure in Cairo is up.”

He only raised one thin white eyebrow, “is it? Just like that?”

She nodded and held out a thumb drive. “This is everything Helix recovered on Talon from the installation we stormed. A favor to you. This is why you’re done in Cairo. You’ve got other problems now.”

Morrison took it, frown deepening, “What’s on it?”

“You would be able to tell better than I, but I would wager its some of Talon’s next steps. It was all heavily encrypted, and someone managed to corrupt a lot of it before we got there, so the majority of what’s on there is useless. Still there are a few things we managed to get for you. You’re more familiar with them, you might be able to get more out of this.”

76 nodded, staring down at it. “What do you think is taking us out of Cairo specifically?”

She smiled here, “Overwatch is needed elsewhere, Jack. If Talon was what was behind all of this in Cairo, then we both know your time is better spent dealing with them.”

“We didn’t finish here though,” Reinhardt wailed. “We were supposed to _finish_.”

“Then maybe what’s on there will make the departure a bit easier. Someone is hunting ex-Overwatch agents. We were able to find several mentions of it.”

“They’re the remnants of Blackwatch,” McCree spat, voice low and dangerous, and it was absolutely inappropriate for it to be doing such things in the pit of Hanzo’s stomach. “Remember runnin’ into ‘em before. One a’ those bastards actually recognized me. I put a bullet in ‘em.”

Morrison sighed, “Jesse, why the hell didn’t you mention _earlier_ that you were being hunted?”

“Weren’t after me specifically. I was in the right place at the wrong time. Wasn’t like we didn’t know it was happenin’.”

_“I did tell you why I activated the Overwatch beacons, Jack.”_ Winston chimed in over comm. 

“A ghost, I believe was what you said,” Jack muttered, “That Gibraltar was invaded by black ops and a _ghost_.”

_“You didn’t see him fight,”_ Winston fussed. _“And do me a favor and ask Fareeha who’s being hunted. She’s right, that’s a bit of a bigger concern to me. I don’t want our people in danger.”_

Morrison sighed, “ _Fine_. Fareeha. Please be so kind as to tell us who exactly we need to go save.” He shook his head, “God this is less of a military operation and more _babysitting_.”

“Jack! Is fine! Be a team player?” Reinhardt reached out and deliberately ruffled Morrison’s thin white hair and Hanzo was fairly certain the man was a moment away from an aneurism.

Pharah watched it with a small smile, “Unfortunately I can’t say that part. They weren’t identified.”

“How are we supposed to know where to go then?” Morrison looked wearied. “What good is that information to us?”

Fareeha rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have bothered you about it if I couldn’t tell you more. The Overwatch operative is not identified, but who they’re with is. And _that_ more than the agent being in danger is why I think it’s a higher priority.”

76 shook his head and gestured with a quick beckon with his entire hand, “Let’s hear it then.”

“The agent in danger is currently keeping the company of an Omnic monk.”

“Like Tekharta Mondatta?” Tracer asked, chewing her lip.

Fareeha nodded, “Sort of. He’s formerly of their order, and no public figurehead like Mondatta was, but in the years since the Shambali leader’s assassination his name as started to appear more and more from the mouths of Omnics and Omnic sympathizers. He’s making a difference, and Talon appears not to be too fond it.”

Tracer smiled, the expression just a bit sad, “Good to hear the fight is still going strong.”

“If the Omnic civil rights fight is dear to you, then you’ll definitely want to move on this. That former Shambali member is next on their slate for assassination. They’re going to try and take two birds with one stone, and go for the ex-Overwatch agent as well.”

Tracer made a small sound of distress and turned to Jack, big blue eyes wide and luminous, “You can’t not do something about that! Come _on_ , Commander, _please_?”

Jack rolled his eyes, “Fine, fine. The international vigilante gang will strike again it looks like. Who is this robot?”

Fareeha shrugged, “An Omnic by the name of Tekharta Zenyatta.”

Jack glanced back at them, “Ring any bells?”

Hanzo had never heard the name before but felt a little better in his ignorance when even Tracer shrugged, “Can’t say I have. Met a few of the Shambali when I visited the memorial for Mondatta in Kings Row, but most were quiet and sort of unassuming. I don’t remember any of them named ‘Zenyatta’. The names they all pick, a bit of a mouthful ain’t it?”

“So where is this mystic Omnic guy?” Lúcio wondered.

Fareeha shrugged, “That’s the part I can’t tell you. Even Talon didn’t have a fix on his current location in their files, but that might’ve changed in the last few days. You’ll need to be quick about it.”

“Great, this is just what I wanted,” Morrison shook his head. 

“So, Jack,” McCree said, voice smooth and his innocent tone did nothing to hide his sly grin, “Does this mean we passed this little trial of yours? You sticking around?”

76 scowled at McCree, “Well you’re all in desperate need of the help so I guess I’d better.”

Tracer pumped her fist up in victory, “Yes! Good to have you on board, commander.”

McCree chuckled and tipped his hat, “Really is. Bet we could find you some ridiculous long trench coat too.” 

“Jesse, I will shoot you.”

Fareeha watched, smile soft and distant, “It’s rather incredible, you know.”

“What is?” Symmetra wondered, and Hanzo wondered too. 

“Getting to watch the reformation of Overwatch.” 

“Don’t make this weird, Fareeha,” Jack groaned, already uncomfortable.

“I’m actually… fairly envious,” She admitted, “That you all get to run off under the Overwatch banner again. I worked so hard for it the first time, and the chance was taken away from me, and now that the chance has come again, I can’t take it.” She saluted. “Do good out there.”

Jack sighed but saluted back, “We’ll keep a spot warm for you, if you ever change your mind.”

Fareeha sighed and nodded, “Maybe I’ll get to take you up on that. Perhaps… one day.”

_“In the mean time, Athena and I are already setting up arrangements for your trip back to Gibraltar,”_ Winston said, _“I think I can get you out of there by tonight.”_

“No hypertrains,” Hanzo pleaded weakly. After the week he’d had he didn’t think he could deal with it.

_“No promises, but I might be able to get you a seat inside this time.”_

Tracer nudged Hanzo, grinning brightly, “It’s not that bad, eh? Jesse! Give me some folksy saying!”

McCree rolled his eyes, “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Brilliant!”

“You can make your arrangements for one fewer, Winston,” Symmetra said, “Regretfully, I will not be returning to Gibraltar. I must take my leave.”

“What? Why?” Tracer sounded distraught, and Lúcio watched with narrowed eyes.

Symmetra smiled a bit, “I must return to my job, unfortunately. My leave is up. I have learned a great deal with you, and I hope to be able to return. But for now I am still contracted with Vishkar as Fareeha is still contracted with Helix.”

Fareeha nodded sympathetically, “I understand the disappointment well.”

Morrison sighed, “Well, I gotta admit, you did good work. We’re gonna miss having you with us.” He offered his hand, and Hanzo knew a sign of respect when he saw one. “We’ll give you a beacon. We’ll give _both_ of you a beacon. You’re Overwatch now. I hope you’ll think about that choice I said you’d have to make again in the future.”

She shook it, smiling faintly, “Thank you, Soldier: 76. If the Petras Act is ever repealed…” She trailed off and Morrison nodded.

“If it is, we’ll look forward to you joining us.”

“If you have need of me though, do not hesitate to ask.” She bowed a bit to them, “I will come at once. “

Fareeha smiled, “As will I. Good luck, Overwatch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, our black-haired beauties will be back.


	11. Betting Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How about a friendly little wager,” McCree said, voice the peak of innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll are hilarious, wiggin' out for the robot boys to show up. Sad to say we'll be waiting a bit longer. Because God couldn't rush this fucking fic at this point. So damn slow burn we're basically just smoking it like a barbeque. Om nom Overwatch.

Hanzo’s third period in Gibraltar was longer than the first two, a full couple of days as they searched for a trace of this Omnic target. Winston had cleaned out a lot of the old quarters in preparation for their stay and Hanzo had his own room now. He wondered, as he put his few belongings away, if this would one day feel as home, or if this would be just another brief stop in his journey. Time would tell. 

He spent his time restocking his quiver, but on the second day Tracer and McCree came by his room, the Brit bubbly as always, the cowboy grinning brighter even than was normal for him.

“Hanzo! Come on, come on! Torbjörn got the training gallery up and running while we were gone! Come see with us, we can get some practice!”

“Need to get in there ‘fore Reinhardt does or he’s gonna get excited and wreck the place,” McCree said, “He’s a little excitable.”

“And that’s a ‘little’ understatement,” Tracer laughed. 

Hanzo nodded slowly, his failure in Cairo still an open wound. He could use the practice. “Very well. Let us see.”

She pumped her fist in victory, “Ha! And Jesse said you’d be a stick in the mud!”

He elbowed her, laughing, ducking his head a bit as Hanzo raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, “Maybe I hadn’t wanted you to _repeat_ that part.”

“Well you were wrong, clearly, so it doesn’t matter.” Her accelerator flickered and she was down the hall. “Come on!”

McCree chuckled again, “Sorry about that. I do want you to come join us.”

Hanzo nodded, picking up his bow and quiver, slinging both around him, “No offense was taken. Though perhaps Morrison was right about one thing.” He stepped out of the small quarters, letting the door shut behind him.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Hanzo quirked a smile, “It can be a little like babysitting. You always have to watch what you say around children, or risk it repeating where you do not want it to be heard.”

McCree’s laugh carried them down the hall, but he could’ve also floated along on all the butterflies in his stomach.

\--

Hanzo would admit it. He was impressed.

He had not been expecting something this elaborate for a training gallery, but he supposed Overwatch had carried a great deal of weight back in its day.

Several levels high, there were drops and catwalks, cover and side passages, and throughout roamed training robots, some stationary, some mobile, some defensive, some offensive. The neutral ground by the entrance was comfortable, and was well-stocked with food as well as first aid, ammunition and had an expansive toolset for repairs or tuning.

“This is remarkable,” he told them.

“Sure is! As a watchpoint, Gibraltar was ready to mobilize at the first hint of trouble. Operatives here had to keep in top form,” Tracer said, watching everything with a huge grin. “We gotta get Torbjörn something as thanks, he did an amazing job with this.”

McCree chuckled, “Think all he’d want right now is for Reinhardt to go a little easier on his Crusader. Ole Torb’s been cooped up with that suit a’ armor all night makin’ repairs.” He puffed his cigar, laughing, “But if ya tried to give the job to someone else he’d probably cut ya.”

“Takin' a break from his current project to fix Reinhardt’s armor then?” Tracer asked.

“What current project?” McCree blinked, “I didn’t hear nothin’ about a project.”

“Apparently Reinhardt and Symmetra brought somethin’ back from Europe, Torb and Winston have been locked up in the lab with it, another reason they’ve been stickin’ behind. No idea what the two of ‘em are cookin’ up.”

“Probably somethin’ that’ll blow up in our faces,” McCree grumbled.

Tracer giggled, “Prob’ly. So c’mon boys! What’re we doin’ today?”

“How about a friendly little wager,” McCree said, voice the peak of innocence.

“Oh no!” She laughed, “I know better! You cheat, love.”

“I do not!” 

“You’re a shit liar, and you do,” She said, elbowing his side. 

Hanzo smiled a bit, watching them, “What sort of wager, McCree?”

McCree blinked, surprised and Tracer threw back her head and _laughed_ , “Oh I hope he kicks your arse, Jesse.”

“Yer such a good friend, Lena,” he grouched and then turned back to Hanzo, eyeing him, chewing the end of his cigar. “Well how about we start easy, hm? Headshots on these little bots, hmm? First to twenty?”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow, “Your weapon has a much faster fire and reload time. Assuming you are not completely blind it will be hard to match that with a bow.”

“What? Don’t think ya can?” McCree taunted.

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. If he had his scatter arrows it would’ve been one thing, but with regular shots he was going to have to move incredibly fast. Still—his mind turned over his capture again—he needed to be better. Needed the practice. “Alright cowboy, you’re on.”

McCree grinned, eyes dark under the brim of his hat, “You never disappoint me, Darlin’.”

Hanzo’s bow came off his shoulder and he smiled, “We’ll see about that.”

“Alright, what’re the stakes, gentlemen?” Tracer asked, rocking excitedly on the balls of her feet.

“How bout that hair ribbon?” McCree said, grinning wide.

Hanzo raised an eyebrow and quirked a smile, “If that’s the case then I want your silly serape.”

McCree laughed hard and Tracer clapped, “We’ve got a wager!” She grinned between them, “I’ll keep score, loves. You two just have to make enough of a mess to give ole Torbjörn a headache later.” 

They readied their weapons, McCree loading up the Peacekeeper, Hanzo nocking an arrow, two more woven in his fingers, ready to reload. “You two ready?” 

Twin nods, and Hanzo glanced over at McCree to catch that dark stare on him as well. Their eyes met for a moment.

Just a moment.

“Ready, set, go!” Tracer called and they sprang forward.

Hanzo jumped and sprang up to a catwalk first thing, scaling the wall easily. His disadvantage was only worse on the ground. Halfway up he got his first shot, sending an arrow right into the red eyespot of the training robot. He leapt up above and shot a patrolling bot he found up there, kicking over the edge so he knew Tracer would count it, the last arrow he’d pulled free was shot below to shatter the head of a bot he saw out of the corner of his eye.

Three down. 

Another three arrows came out of his quiver and he launched them rapid-fire and a cluster of stationary bots below. 

He heard the Peacekeeper fire its slow hard shots somewhere below, heard the static noises of the robots and the shattering of their mechanical parts. 

He took a deep breath and let it all fall away. 

Here and now.

Only he and the storm bow. 

In the ink on his arm, the twins stirred, but remained dormant. He hadn’t called them, and they didn’t fight to push to the surface. They hadn’t in years.

Falling into that mental place where he was most effective was strange, he needed spatial awareness around him so as not to be taken by surprise, but he needed focus for his task, all trained on the target. He heard the continuing Peacekeeper shots, knew roughly where McCree was, but didn’t let them penetrate further. Like the south winds his dragons were borne from, he shot arrow after arrow.

He dashed along catwalks and leapt gaps, he never stopped moving, tried to keep his rate of fire constant. There were targets enough that he should never lack for a shot should he have arrows left. He kept constant track in his head, _fourteen, fifteen, sixteen—_

Close, he was so close to the end, _seventeen_ , he could make it, _eighteen, nineteen—_

Suddenly there was a last gunshot and a shrill whistle, Tracer shouted loud from below, “And done! We’ve got a winner!”

He sighed and straightened. Close, he’d been close, and done well, but not well enough. 

Hanzo dropped down below, ready to face that smug cowboy smirk, but was surprised to find McCree leaning on the wall, completely winded, hat off, fanning himself. 

“Think you broke him,” Tracer told Hanzo cheerfully.

“Goddamn,” McCree panted, “I had to run up and down this stupid place just ta find enough targets. You were a fuckin’ storm up there, darlin’, I got _lucky_.”

“Three of ‘em popped out of a small hallway,” Tracer said, “He got an easy boost late game. It was _close_.”

He did feel a bit better about that. 

McCree lurched off the wall, hat still in hand and grinned tiredly, “Now, I think we have a wager to settle on?”

Hanzo sighed heavily, he had more ribbons for his hair but he _liked_ this one, “A bet is a bet.” He reached up to undo the knot in the silk carefully.

“Where didja learn to fire a bow like that?” Tracer wondered, “You barely needed to line up a shot before it was hittin’ home.”

“When I was a boy I received some preliminary training with a bow and arrow as part of the traditional education of my family.” He hesitated and then went on, there was no point in keeping the secrets of a dead clan, “The Shimada have hundreds of years of ninja heritage, and I don’t mean your western pop-culture variation. This was a proud line, and a proud way of life. Mostly my studies were dedicated to the katana, but I…” He couldn’t find the words to carelessly speak about it, giving up his sword for what he had used it to do to his brother, “I found I liked the bow better, after I left.” He felt awkward and unbalanced, but he was among allies, he reminded himself and tried halfheartedly for humor, “It is much easier, hunting wrongdoers when they do not see you coming.”

They laughed and Tracer elbowed McCree as Hanzo’s ribbon came off, his hair falling into a salt and pepper mane around his jawline, brushing his shoulders. The cowboy’s throat bobbed visibly. 

“Sounds just like what Jesse was doing!” Tracer said.

“Oh?” Hanzo asked, folding the hair ribbon up into a neat little square.

“Dunno about that, Lena—”

“Sure it was! Told me yourself you were only takin’ jobs on the side of justice!” She blinked suddenly and grinned brightly, “And hey! Weren’t you in Japan a few times huntin’ bad guys?”

Hanzo froze and a horrible moment of clarity filtered in.

_What had McCree been doing at the Rikimaru?_

Hunting wrongdoers.

Who were the largest, most notorious group of criminals in Hanamura? The ones he _knew_ were in Hanamura. Had _met_ before?

The Shimada clan.

_Hanzo._

His eyes go cold and he snarls at McCree, “ _That’s_ what you were doing there!”

Tracer and McCree blink at him, realizing the conversation has changed from friendly to hostile, “What?”

“A few years ago I saw you at the Rikimaru in Hanamura. You fought off a burglar at the ramen shop. I saw you stare at the gates of the Shimada estate. I had wondered what could’ve possibly brought some strange American there. Is _that_ what you were doing? Were you looking for me? For the head of the criminal clan your order took down? Looking to tie up one last loose end?”

McCree’s eyes were wide and shocked, “Wait, you were _there_?” 

“I was. I wondered. I’ve been wondering since I met you here what could’ve taken you there but I never imagined it was because you’d wanted to kill me,” Hanzo spat coldly. 

“It wasn’t!” McCree protested, “I swear it wasn’t! I mean, yeah I was lookin’ for ya, but it wasn’t because of that! I would never!” he shot a helpless glance at Tracer who was watching wide-eyed, no idea how to respond. “Honest, Hanzo. I been nothin’ but good about ya’ and where ya came from! I like ya! I was even tryin’ to give ya the benefit of the doubt even after what ya did to Genji—“ His mouth clicked shut and Tracer gasped.

Wrong thing to say.

Hanzo stepped back, face cold and impassive, “I see how it is. I see all of it now.” He glanced down at the ribbon in his hands and threw it in McCree’s face. “Take your spoils of victory. I certainly would not want anything of yours had I won.” He turned, intent of leaving.

“Wait, Hanzo, please—“

_“Attention Overwatch agents!”_ Winston’s voice sudden came over the comm throughout the base, _“Please report to the Command table. We have a location on Zenyatta and will be briefing in ten minutes!”_

Hanzo glanced up at the loud speaker, gave one last cold glare to McCree, and turned and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think it was going to be that _easy_ did you?
> 
> Also, I am going to do my best NOT to be that person who hiatuses after a cliffhanger but World of Warcraft Legion is dropping tonight and that will eat a fucking ton of my time. I have a few buffer chapters, so I will do everything I can to keep updates regular.


	12. Hanamura

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe after this I will not be with Overwatch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, Hanzo is a D-bag in this chapter, doing what he does best. Being an asshole that doesn't listen. Silly little critter.

Of course it was Hanamura. Of course it was. 

He closed his eyes a moment, travelling in front of Tracer and Morrison. 

Since Hanzo was the most knowledgeable about this place he was in the forward group, and the American was relegated to hang back with the giant German and the slighter Brazilian. Only six of them were on the ground for this, Winston coordinating back at Gibraltar again, a job he wasn’t fond of, wanting to be out with the team, but between he and Athena he could do a much better job of protecting his agents from base. 

Winston trusted Morrison to protect them in the field. 

Hanzo had very nearly not come on this mission at all. Still brimming with cold fury, when Winston had told them that Omnic was last tracked in Hanamura, the archer had nearly turned and walked out. But he was not with Overwatch to make friends, or find a home, or fall in—become _infatuated_ with some stupid American cowboy. 

He was here to redeem himself, to do _good_ without thought of recompense, and that was worth putting up with the rest of it. Even if it meant going to his ancestral homeland, even if it meant he had to see McCree nearly continuously. 

So he didn’t walk out, didn’t tell Winston that it was dangerous for him to set foot in the old Japanese town swallowed by urbanization, didn’t punch McCree’s stupid hurt face. He nodded, and said he’d do his best to help them in this place he was most familiar with. 

He had refused outright to travel alone with McCree again, pretended he hadn’t seen the man’s shattered expression as he told Winston and 76 so, pretended not to see him in the base while they prepared, and on the way over—

\--

They had taken a freight jet over, the pilot an old contact of Morrison’s who didn’t care if they hitched a ride as long as they didn’t touch anything. There wasn’t a lot of room, but there were two entire decks packed with cargo, and while he had a feeling Morrison wanted to cover their itinerary and plan for when they touched down, Hanzo really wanted nothing to do with it.

He found a corner in the back of the hold and hunkered down, listening to the plane drone around him, and closed his eyes, wishing he could sleep. 

“Hanzo?”

His eyes snapped open, a scowl settling on his face as he heard McCree call his name. He stayed quiet, hoping he’d leave again.

No such luck.

“There ya are,” That scruffy hat-capped head popped around one of the freight crates and he moved around fully into the archer’s line of sight. “Listen, can we talk?”

“No. Go away.”

“Please?”

“ _No_. I do not wish to see you.”

McCree sighed and frowned, moving forward anyway, “Look, I’m gonna talk. I need you to believe me, whatever you think was going on, it wasn’t like that.” The cowboy was practically begging, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Hanzo didn’t care. “Please, Hanzo,” He whispered, “Let me explain?”

Hanzo growled and stood up, fists balled, scowling up into McCree’s surprised face, “No. I do not want to hear it. I don’t want to hear another word from you!”

“Please, I promise—“

_“I do not care!”_ Hanzo reached out and pushed against him, and beneath his skin the twins stirred, roused by his anger. “I do not care for anything you have to say to me! I could’ve even seen my way to letting it go that you were looking to kill me—“

“I _wasn’t—!_ ”

“—But I cannot let go that you _lied_ to me about it!”

McCree blinked, lost, “I never lied—“

“You did!” Hanzo snarled, feeling more of a dragon than the spirits in his skin, “What was it you told me back in Gibraltar, before Cairo? That you _understood_ why I did all those things, that you thought I was born into it and that made a difference. That sometimes family makes you do terrible things and there’s really no choice. You _lied_ , McCree, you lied to my _face_. You lied to me when instead you could’ve offered me the truth.”

“I didn’t!” McCree protested, pleading, “Hanzo, I swear to ya—“

“I suppose it is fine then, because I ended up being wrong too,” Hanzo’s glare was cold, “You are a disappointment, Jesse McCree. You have lived up to it in full.”

McCree stood, stunned, and Hanzo pushed past him. Determined to stay away from him the rest of the flight. The rest of the mission. The rest of his _life_ , if he were lucky—

\--

It had been a rather trying journey.

He shook his head a bit as if to clear it, trying to get his thoughts back on the here and now.

Morrison was in command but was delegating to him for the time being, deferring to his knowledge of the area. The former strike commander had been involved in the take-down of the Shimada Empire back in the day, but that was years ago and he was tactful enough to keep his mouth shut about it. 

Hanamura had changed little in the years he’d been gone, a fact that brought little comfort, but it was easy to find his way around, even in the dark. It might’ve been a sleepy little pocket, but it was still inhabited, and they would need to be careful. Especially any lingering eyes that might recognize the wayward heir to the Shimada’s legacy of power and blood. 

At least they were working in the opposite side of the district than the Shimada castle. 

The Omnic they were looking for was supposedly staying in a small Buddhist temple as a guest, giving talks for those who wanted to hear, the religions distinct but accepting of one another. Hanzo remembered the place from his early days, but had never been inside. 

Morrison, being paranoid, insisted on casing the place first, just in case there were other rude surprises.

And, as he pointed out, with Talon involved there were bound to be. 

The daytime cicadas had died down, and the night chorus of crickets and katydids had taken over, filling the still air with their rhythmic drone. The temple was small but it had a fair amount of grounds, a Zen garden ringed the main entrance and there was a long reflecting pool, it was difficult to get a gage of the temple itself from the perimeter. 

“What do you think?” Morrison murmured to him, “It looks quiet, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Any sign of that Omnic monk? Zenwhatever.”

Hanzo shook his head, “Neither the Omnic nor Talon. I cannot detect anything. It seems calm.” He gestured below to the sand of the garden, “the gravel is undisturbed.”

“Blackwatch was good enough that they’d never have made such a stupid mistake,” 76 murmured, “I can only imagine Talon is at least that good.” He stood, the red of his visor flickering with some sort of change in the HUD, “I’m going to do another ring around the perimeter. See if I see anything. You and Tracer sit tight. Keep an eye on things for me, see if my movement flushes anyone out.”

“Sir,” Tracer murmured, watching as Morrison nodded and stalked off, disappearing into the night. She’d been watching Hanzo with a sad kicked-puppy look almost since the incident in the gallery. He had been ignoring her, and intended to continue to do so right up until she reached up and removed her earpiece and said softly, “Jesse’s really a good guy.”

He sighed heavily and shook his head, he wasn’t doing this.

“Please, you gotta listen to me, Hanzo. He told me it’s not like what you think, he wasn’t tryin’ to go after you. He—he really _likes_ you, and this is messin’ ‘im up bad…” She bit her lip, looking upset.

He ground his teeth and removed his own earpiece, “I don’t know why you—either of you—would think I’m stupid enough not to see it. He _knew_ , Tracer, knew who I was and where I was, and there was no other reason than for him to be in Hanamura _other_ than to find me. And like I told him, though you probably know this if you’re gossiping, what is infuriating is that he lied.”

“Oh love,” Tracer murmured, “He didn’t lie. He _was_ there to find you. He just wasn’t there to kill you.”

“There’s no other reason he had to be in Hanamura.”

She bit her lip, opened and closed her mouth and then finally took a long breath, “You really need to talk to him.”

“I do not want to“

“Look, if you’re stayin’ on as Overwatch then ya need to clear the air,” She puffed up, trying to be firm, “Team cohesion an’ all that.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed, “Maybe after this I will not be with Overwatch.”

She blinked, eyes widening, “But—“

“What the _hell_ are you two doing?” Morrison hissed at them, rounding a corner suddenly, “Did you take out your fucking comms? I’ve been calling for you and you’re fucking disconnected—“

They jump to attention, putting their earpieces back, Tracer speaking, worried, “Why, what’s—“

Sounds of gunfire filtered in over the comms, as well as McCree’s frantic voice, _“fire, repeat we are under fire!”_

“Back-up is coming, eta six minutes, _hold them_!” Morrison snarled into his earpiece. “Let’s go assholes, Tracer, get there, don’t wait for us!”

“On it!” She blinked and was gone, charging down the street in a flicker of blue energy. 

_“Hurry!”_ Winston urged, _“Athena and I can’t hold down all the calls we’re seeing to law enforcement—We’re keeping it wrapped but you don’t have long!”_

Hanzo sprinted after 76, heart in his throat. 

_“We are holding, but we cannot last,”_ Reinhardt came in, _“It’s Talon—“_

_“They got the drop on us!”_ Lúcio snarled, the distinct sound of the bass pulse from his sonic amplifier muddying the sound.

_“Blackwatch tactics,”_ McCree’s growl was low and tight, _“Move with me, do not poke your head out, stay in cover. Reinhardt, do not let that barrier fall!”_

Hanzo primed and pushed with his boots with every step, using the timed forward momentum to push him faster, keep up with Morrison’s headlong sprint. The sound of the Peacekeeper seemed overloud over the piece in his ear, his heart clenching with each shot.

He didn’t care, he reminded himself. He didn’t care.

The gunshots met his ears through the quiet of the Hanamuran night. Hanamura was sleepy and not as urbanized as the city around it, but it was a maze of tight blocks and tall buildings, and sound got lost in the alleys and streets even without the noise of the city to hide it. 

They had split up and left the other three in the public park, thinking that in the dark they would’ve been slightly hidden, cloaked while the forward group checked the area, assured it clear. They hadn’t expected to be hit behind like this—

Had this whole thing been a setup from the beginning? Was there even an Omnic or an Overwatch agent here? Or had it all been a plant?

Morrison’s visor was a flicker or red calculations and he pushed forward like a man possessed. “Status _now_ , keep me apprised, we’re closing.”

_“Holding, boss!”_ McCree sounded strained, _“We’d be pulp without Reinhardt, but we’re holding so far.”_ There was a low boom, muffled and tiny over the comm, _“Hurry.”_

_“Closing in!”_ Tracer called, _“Jesse, just hold on!”_

Three sets of breathless exhalations and one loud swear from McCree suddenly broke through, _“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the fuck—“_

_“McCree look out! He’s—“_ Lúcio’s frantic shout was cut abruptly.

Reinhardt yelled something furious in German that was cut off with a grunt of pain and a desperate call in English, _“Barrier is failing! He’s too much—“_

“What is going on?” Morrison snarled, skidding around a corner, Hanzo at his heels, wishing he could move _faster_.

_“It’s the fucking Ghost!”_

Even over the muffle of the comm, tiny and distant, the darkest, most chilling voice filtered into Hanzo’s ear like a sliver of black ice on frozen gunmetal.

_“Death has come.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Knock Knock.
> 
> _who's there_


	13. Three Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Those guns are ridiculous and he’s big and—holy shit he can turn into smoke!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, meant to post this Monday, and then forgot to send the most recent version of the word doc from my work computer for two days like a dummy. So here we are, finally.

The park was a mess of dead Talon agents when they arrived. The sounds of gunfire echoed through the area, enough to be sure they hadn’t finished off whatever squad had attacked, but the fight had moved on and Hanzo didn’t recognize the sounds of the weapons layered overtop the normal spray of AK fire, heavy and slow like shotgun discharge. He and Morrison vaulted a scatter of bodies in their charge, Winston in their ears, _“Reinhardt’s and McCree’s pings have separated, they’re moving, you’ve got to catch up!”_

“We are trying, Winston!” Morrison snarled, “Someone give me a fucking status report!”

_“Can’t—“_ McCree bit out, _“Moving.”_

There was a sudden blast of sound, of music, and Lúcio’s normal excited crow is gone, replaced with a ragged voice, _“Go! I’ve got the amplifier going as hard as I can!”_

“What direction?” Morrison demanded, pausing, the park empty, the noise echoing and the direction indistinct. 

_“Headed north,”_ McCree panted, _“Hurry, you’ve gotta—Oh fuck—“_

There were several of those long, hard shots again, echoed between his own ears and the comms, whatever ghost catching up. 

_“Why don’t you take some a’ this you fuckin’ wanker!”_

_Tracer._ She’d made it, the sound of her rapid fire pistols scattering over the comms. “Tracer, status of team, can you hold?” Morrison demanded rapidly, he and Hanzo moving through the park, a body of a downed Talon agent here and there to point the way.

_“Trying, Commander!”_ She said, the whirr of her accelerator loud as she blinked, _“Those guns are ridiculous and he’s big and—holy shit he can turn into smoke!”_

“What?” Morrison demanded.

_“Tracer, don’t stop!”_ McCree called, _“If you stop you’re a target, keep moving!”_

The silence that followed is tense, Morrison and Hanzo dashing through the park. It was nearly pitch black out, the sky moonless and cloudy, and the few streetlamps over park paths were not nearly enough to distinguish much. 

_“Ghost vanished, Commander!”_ Tracer said, the trilling churn of her accelerator muddying her comm broadcast as she blinked, _“Heading back to the others! Reinhardt and Lúcio were holding off the rest of the Talon attack, McCree led the ghost away. Jesse, where are you?”_

_“Headin’ back,”_ McCree’s voice was tight, _“Got clipped by a shot, not serious. I can still fight.”_

Hanzo’s chest tightened at his words before he shook himself. You don’t care, you don’t care. But then he heard the Peacekeeper firing again as he and Morrison careen around and they finally caught sight of Reinhardt’s bright shield, the dull thud of the energy absorbing the impacts of the Talon agent’s fire. 

Tracer whipped in suddenly and stuck a pulse bomb on the forehead of one of the Talon agents with a slightly vicious little, “Bombs away, tosser!” And was gone in a flash of blue, the talon agent screaming and cutting out when it detonated a split second later with a wet sound. 

Morrison let fire a round of rockets and Hanzo followed up with a scatter arrow behind their cover, firing a blind shot before he follows with a sonic arrow to check. “Status!” 76 barked.

“Jus’ me bleedin’ commander,” McCree panted and Hanzo’s throat tightens when he sees the cowboy, a thick streak of red running down his flesh arm. “Dunno where that ghost went but keep aware, the fire range on his guns is fuckin’ stupid, wide as shit—“ He ambled forward and suddenly his feet kick up a strange patch of black smoke, rising around him. He froze, unsure and Tracer was shouting—

“Smoke! He turns into smoke! Jesse _move_!” She leapt at him and pushed him, causing the cowboy to stumble back. Reinhardt lowered the shield long enough to grab him bodily and drag McCree behind him, barrier flashing bright again, before the smoke is _solidifying_ and oh God, it was a man in black with a mask—an owl, no a _skull—_

Vapor built and suddenly burst like a blossom and the ghost turned into a whirling cyclone of smoke and gunfire, his voice lost in it but there was a steady drum against Hanzo’s skull— _Die, Die, Die._

Tracer screamed, taking the full brunt of it—God, there was blood _everywhere_ ¬—her accelerator pulsed blue and suddenly she was whipping around, _rewinding_. She blinks back behind Reinhardt’s shield as it takes most of the bullet storm. She touched over herself, making sure she was in one piece again.

“Hey jackass!” 76 called and fired off a spiral of rockets at the ghost who slowly swirls to a stop and then shifts, going immaterial, _smoke_ , and suddenly he’s there. One clawed hand struck out and knocked Hanzo off his feet before he can shoot and the other flashing forward and taking Jack by the throat, hauling him up off the ground. 

“I had so hoped Talon could handle things in Cairo, but I see now that if you want something done right you do it _yourself_ ,” The ghost snarled and hauled his free hand back, gauntlet-clad fist smashing into 76’s facemask, shattering his HUD, the red array splintering and cracking off. 

Jack gasped and struggled for air and one baleful, blue eye stared out and the ghost _froze_. 

_“Morrison!”_ Tracer shouted, blinking forward, pistols out—

_”What—“_ Something strange was happening to the ghost and as Hanzo drew hard to fire, the specter suddenly dropped Jack, who gasped for air like a drowning man, and the ghost took a step back, then another, and vanished into the air.

_Gone._

Like the ghost had seen a _ghost._

Hanzo turned and launched his scatter arrow at the few remaining Talon agents, clearing out the last few of their forces. “Morrison, are you injured?”

76 shook his head, standing on unsteady legs. “Fine, I’ll be fine. Winston, fuck, I owe you a hell of an apology. What the _fuck—_ “

_“No hard feelings, Commander,”_ Winston came in, “I’m just glad you’re all okay.”

“We’ll have to get something for McCree’s arm, where the hell did we put that medkit—“   
Morrison barked orders from a sore throat.

One wounded Talon soldier struggled up and stumbled out from behind his cover, pulling out a canister of something dark and purple and hurled it at Hanzo. “For killing my friends you asshole!”

Hanzo had a singular moment of déjà vu, remembering in Cairo the moments before the impact—

_“Hanzo!”_ McCree leapt at him, pushing him out of the way—

And took the full brunt of it, a splash of noxious liquid and glass shards coating the cowboy, the liquid bubbling as it touched his open wound.

_“McCree!”_

The gunslinger gurgled, choking, and collapsed, Hanzo catching him barely before his head hit the ground. “Jesse!” Tracer shouted, blinking by his side and Hanzo’s world tunnels down to the American. His eyes rolling back, body jerking as if seizing, lips turning purple.

Hanzo snarled, letting him down carefully, and drew back and fired, spearing that last Talon agent between his eyes before he even registers he’s moving. “Lúcio get over here!” He roared and the musician skidded up as quickly as he could, the amplifier emitting soft soothing tones.

“This’ll help, hang in there, McCree,” Lúcio looked shaken, “Shit whatever the hell they hit him with is bad, on top of the blood loss I’m not sure this’ll be enough.”

“Jesse can you hear me?” Soldier: 76 rasped, voice a mess from the grip of the ghost but he’s their commander first. 

McCree shuddered and his voice came out as a wet wheeze, “Reyes, think I saw,” He coughs heavily, “Think I saw Reyes.”

“Fuck he’s delirious,” Jack whispered, his voice tight and deliberately, desperately even. 

“I think I can stabilize him,” Lúcio muttered, doing something to the settings on his amplifier and suddenly the volume and force of it increased. “This’ll work for a bit, but…” The young man looked at them helplessly, “I don’t know what this _is_. I’m not a doctor.”

“What do we do?” Tracer whispered, “We haven’t got a medic or evac. Can we move him? Winston?”

_“I’m looking for options but without Symmetra’s teleporter and with Torbjörn and I on the other side of the world, we can’t get to you. Give me a moment!”_

“We haven’t got a moment,” Morrison growled, but his voice was laced with worry.

Hanzo’s throat worked and he dropped down where McCree was laying, “Can you move? Can you stand at _all_?” He took a firm hold of the cowboy’s shoulder, “You fool,” he whispered, voice trembling, “You miserable _fool_. Why did you step in front of that?”

McCree’s hand came up suddenly and fisted in the sleeve of Hanzo’s clothing, “Hanz—Hanzo,” He was breathing hard and wet like his throat was full of fluid, his eyes were glassy, “Wasn’t, wasn’t huntin’ you, gotta… gotta believe me.”

Hanzo wasn’t sure his chest has ever hurt like this and he had been shot before. “Be silent,” he pleaded gently, clasping McCree’s flesh hand tightly, “It doesn’t matter right now.”

McCree shook his head, more letting it loll side to side, and his delirious babbling continues, “Wanted ya to remember. Back… back in the States… Before, from _before_. Don’t you _remember_?”

Hanzo swallowed, heart pounding, “What?” He didn’t remember. Didn’t remember anything the cowboy might be alluding to, anything that might be out of the ordinary, “What happened?” But then the gunslinger’s eyes rolled back, another shudder wracking his body as whatever venom coursed through his system. “Do something!” He snapped at Lúcio.

The Brazilian just looked at him helplessly, “I can’t.”

“Here,” Morrison threw a small device on the ground, the area lighting up yellow with a pulse of light, “This’ll help stabilize him, but it won’t work for long. How long does he have?” Morrison’s voice was subdued.

“No telling,” Lúcio shook his head, “I’ll keep him going as long as I can but—“ the statement hung heavy in the air. 

“We have to get moving, somehow,” Morrison said tightly, “Blackwatch always operated with two strike teams per mission, there was always a backup. If Talon is Blackwatch, we’re going to get hit again.”

Hanzo had never felt more helpless in his life. Being bound and captive wasn’t worse than this, watching McCree lost to whatever poison tainted him now. He was keyed up, he’s _furious_ , he’s an angry, wretched _mess—_

The dragons roil under his skin and he knew without a doubt—

There were eyes upon him. 

He whirled, searching, spotting a shadow moving in the dark forms of the skyline from the nearby street. His hand tightened on McCree’s, “No, we are getting hit now. Someone is here.”

“What?” Morrison brought his Helix rifle up, looking around, but his HUD is a wreck, he wouldn’t be able to detect anything with it. “You’re certain?” Reinhardt swears, something rude and rough in German and shifts, ready with the barrier, subdued like Hanzo has never seen him.

“Positive,” Hanzo snarled, and stood, dropping McCree’s hand, bow coming off his shoulder, “I will find them.”

“Hanzo—“ McCree wheezed on the ground, trying to reach for him feebly again, “Don’—“ But then a tremor goes through him and he coughs and vomits bile, pink with traces of blood, Tracer swearing and tilting his head so he doesn’t choke.

“You better not run off again,” Morrison growled at him.

“I cannot _sit here_ ,” Hanzo pleaded, “I cannot sit and watch him _die_. If there’s an enemy out there the only thing I can do right now is _find_ it, and protect him. Tracer, will help me hold the perimeter,” He said firmly and it wasn’t up for debate, he didn’t care if 76 is in charge, “You are no good with your visor ruined. Figure out how to _move_ him. Figure out _where_ we can move him.” He nocked an arrow and growled, more dragon than man in his next words, “I will destroy _anything_ in your path.”

Slowly 76 nodded, “We’ll wait for your signal. Winston get me some options _now_.”

Hanzo was already rushing forward, making for the nearest building and scaling straight up the side, “Tracer, circle around behind, I am not letting this one get away.”

_“On it,”_ She said and it has none of the enthusiasm that normally colored her words. _“No one else is gonna get hurt.”_

Hanzo ascended another building, boots priming and pushing upward, using one hand to climb, the other keeping his bow ready. If he got half a shot he was not going to waste it. His dragons were a churning storm under his skin and though it was tempting to loose them, let them rampage with the force of his anger he held them in check.

If this shadow was Talon, then this kill was _his_ and his alone.

He leapt to the rooftop and saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye and fired, but the arrow smashed into nothing but the concrete surface of the roof, leaving a deep gouge behind. He growled and pushed forward, two more arrows coming out. “Keep me apprised, do you see anything?”

_“Nothing yet—wait! Movement on the second building to your left! I’m looking for a way up now!”_

“Head down the street to your left; I will flush him that way.”

_“Copy that.”_

Hanzo leapt the gap, arrow coming out, saw the shadow leap to the next roof and sprinted after, a growl building in his throat, “You cannot get away that easily.”

He followed, making the jump with a rough push from his boots and landed hard, letting them take most of the impact. He paused, everything still and silent. 

But he felt the eyes on him. His lizard brain charged with the dragon’s own reptilian feelings, and he felt thunder in his heartbeat. The twins were awake more often than not these days, and there was an edge against his mind like the smooth-sharp brush of scales. 

_Hunt,_ they urged him, _strike first, strike back_ , and Hanzo would.

He moved slowly, his steps nearly silent, bow before him, ready. There was movement around the corner of a roof access entrance and draws tight and whirls around, arrow pointed—

—and found a katana at his throat. Green running lights flared suddenly and lit up the dark suburban night.

Hanzo felt like all the breath has been knocked from his chest, but he found just enough to gasp—

“Genji?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, _yes_ you're mad, I know, but also, admit it, you're as excited as you are infuriated.
> 
> Maybe.


	14. Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nine orbs suddenly lit up gold and blue one by one and a blue array flickered to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's not talk too much about how late this is. Writers block is the worst when you know exactly what has to happen and the words won't come. I am not entirely satisfied, but that's okay. It's done.
> 
> So I'll just say I'm sorry!

“Genji?”

There was a burst of chatter in his ear over the comm, Tracer the loudest: _“What? Did you say Genji—? I can’t find a way up, hold tight I’m coming—!”_ Before he tilted his head down, using the thumb of the hand on the drawn bowstring to flip the bud out of his ear, going silent. 

Genji’s faceless visor stared back at him, and the cyborg didn’t move so much as an inch, katana at Hanzo’s throat. Hanzo kept his arrow pointed right at the flicker of green beneath the guard on his helmet. 

Hanzo was reminded in this moment that this was not his brother anymore. This chimera of man and machine and memory had Genji’s voice, and his experiences, and was _Genji—_

—but he was _not_ his brother. 

Not really, not anymore. 

Genji is alive, reason enough that Hanzo took his suggestion to find Overwatch, but he did not trust him. 

He had wanted to believe, somehow, that they could be family again. But with the blade at his neck and the impassive green visor staring him down, Hanzo was not so sure what he wanted. 

“Genji—“

“What are you doing here?” The cyborg interrupted him, voice hard. 

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed, slipping back into his native tongue, “The same could be asked of you.”

“We both know your neck is a lot less durable than my visor,” Genji said, voice low, “Answer me, Hanzo. What are you doing back in Hanamura? What does Overwatch want with Zenyatta?”

“…You’re the ex-Overwatch agent that’s here then.” Hanzo felt the blade touch skin and heard Genji growl. 

“Overwatch may have been the banner I flew under once upon a time, but if they are after Zenyatta then I will turn my blade against them all the same. I heard you and Morrison outside the temple before I trailed you here. I heard you say you were looking for him, that _Talon_ was looking for him. You will _answer_ me, Hanzo.”

Hanzo stiffened and then slowly lowered his bow, eyes hard, chest tight, “Or what? You will kill your own brother?”

Genji’s sword did not drop, “I do not wish to. I have seen what that does to a man.”

Hanzo’s eyes closed, and he felt like his soul was an open wound. 

“But I will not allow Zenyatta to come to harm. Even from you. More than almost anything I do not wish to kill you, but I will stop you, and I do not have to kill you for that.”

_Come to harm._

Hanzo’s throat tightened, “My…brother,” he whispered softly, the word foreign and unworthy on his tongue, “Please, I need your help.”

“Why?”

“McCree was injured—poisoned. Please, if there is anything you can do, we have nothing to help him.” He shook his head, “I should not ask you for anything after our history, but please—“

Genji shifted, hesitating.

If there was nothing to offer, no help to be given, there was no reason to hesitate. 

Panic suffused slow and cold through his chest. McCree needed the help, he would not last. Without medical aid the American would—McCree would—

Hanzo’s voice came out rough, “Please, Genji.”

“Hanzo—?”

Hanzo’s hands fisted and slowly he lowered his head and dropped to his knees before his brother. Pride had kept him from bowing before anyone, but pride had laid him low in other ways. What would it matter, _any_ of it matter, if _he_ died. He knelt before this cyborg that was Genji and bowed his head low, “Please, brother,” He whispered. “Jesse is _dying_ ,” the reality of it was a cold vice around his heart. Death he faced himself had always been a hard eventuality, but this felt like an execution sentence more than anything yet. “Jesse is dying and I cannot help him. I can do _nothing_. I have no right to ask anything from you, but you are all that I have in this moment. Please. Whatever bad blood is between us for what I’ve done, I beg you, let it go for this night and help me _save_ him.”

Genji was silent, and then the dragonblade withdrew and was sheathed once more. “Because McCree was my friend, and because I have given you a chance, I will. We will have to move him. Come.”

Hanzo did not sag in relief, but it was a near thing, his eyes closing as the feeling that swept through him. “Thank you,” He reached down and picked up his comm and replaced it in his ear, finally speaking to apprise the team, “This is Hanzo. Tracer, head back, we have an option.”

\--

They end up carrying McCree with one arm across Hanzo’s shoulder and the other across Morrison’s. Making Reinhardt carry him was discarded as he didn’t have enough dexterity in his armor to be careful, and if Talon struck again than the barrier would be indispensable. 

Genji led them, silent, his lights running dark. He had been a _surprise_ for the others, but had said nothing to greet them, just a curt ‘follow me,’ and headed off. Hanzo couldn’t tell if his shoulders were always that stiff in this new body of his or if there was a new line of tension. They had more dire matters after all than pleasantries, but he saw the amazed looks he got from Tracer and the suspicious looks from 76. 

Jesse was silent now. It terrified Hanzo. 

The only noise he made was the wet wheeze of labored breathing, fainter and fainter with each passing minute. Even the delirious babble had stopped. Hanzo had never been more afraid in his life. 

“Please, are we almost there?” He murmured in Japanese to Genji, who tipped his visor back toward him in acknowledgement. 

“Soon, we are returning to the temple,” He murmured, “My Master will be able to help him. He is capable of healing wounds and ills.”

The word ‘Master’ was jarring from his brother, that capricious spirit he used to be, barely under the thumb of their father, and certainly never Hanzo’s. It was alien to think of that headstrong soul submitting to another. So different.

Genji was so different from his brother.

McCree choked and vomited bile and blood on ground, Lúcio swore and tried to squeeze a bit more power from his amplifier, and Hanzo set his jaw. “As long as it is close.”

Genji could be anything he wanted, if he could help them save McCree. 

Tracer flickered in and out of sight, keeping a perimeter around them, Lúcio continued to keep his revitalizing music going, the only thing they had and perhaps the only reason McCree had lasted this long. Reinhardt was behind them, bringing up the rear, ready to have their back. His silence was strange too, a tense absence of boisterous sound.

If Talon were going to strike, this would be the time, while they were weak. 

Morrison clearly thought so too, his attention elsewhere, watching, waiting. His awareness was diminished with the loss of his visor, but his eyes were sharp and constantly searching. 

It was a good thing, as Hanzo’s attention was consumed with Jesse and watching the segmented back of his only living blood. It was good that the others were there to support him, to fill in the gaps of his attention, to keep his back.

His chest tightened, a lump of shame in his throat.

How many times would his anger blind him?

How many times would he make the same mistake?

“Hurry,” Genji said before them, beckoning quickly, “We are close.”

Hanzo looked up to see the little temple ahead of them, dark and still as ever before in the again-quiet Hanamuran night. Something clicked in his brain, two facts he hadn’t been putting together with his mind a fog of adrenaline and worry.

“Your Master is the Omnic?”

Genji said nothing, hurrying forward, the green visor snapping back and forth, checking for danger. Hanzo adjusted his grip on McCree’s heavy body, and they pushed forward. They moved across the stepping stones of the Zen garden and up to the front, Genji sliding the rice paper door open for them and ushering them inside, "Quickly, get him in.”

“Where do we put him?” Morrison rumbled, tired, his face exposed.

Genji seemed to ignore them, stepping into the dark temple, looking around, “Master Zenyatta?”

Within the dark suddenly something _lit_. Nine orbs suddenly lighting up gold and blue one by one and a blue array flickered to life. An Omnic sat in lotus position, illuminated by the orbs ringing his neck, turning slowly, spinning wider in an orbit. 

Hanzo stared openly. He wasn’t the only one.

“Whoa,” Tracer whispered, and Reinhardt muttered something almost reverent in German. 

“Ah, Genji,” The Omnic spoke, his voice low and layered with that faint telltale mechanical tremor, “I wondered where you had gone.”

“Bring him in,” Genji gestured for McCree, “Master, these are old friends of mine from Overwatch, one is injured, gravely. Can you help him?”

Zenyatta straightened and nodded, shifting to stand, “Bring him here, please. I will do all I can.”

Hanzo and Morrison levied McCree over to where Zenyatta stepped forward, “Please,” Hanzo found himself speaking aloud, feeling _apprehensive_ somehow as that expressionless face turned to look at him, “Please, if you can help him—“

He felt more than saw Genji’s visor turn to him. 

“I will gladly do what I am able. Bring him into the back here,” Zenyatta gestured, urging them into a back room where a futon was spread on the ground. Carefully they spread McCree on it, his body jerking faintly, his breath a shallow, pitiful wheeze. 

“We’ve been keepin’ him alive so far with this,” Lúcio said, holding up his amplifier, “But he’s fading, faster now. I can’t keep him alive much longer.”

Hanzo’s chest spasmed and his heart took off at a gallop with a spur of adrenaline. 

This Omnic nodded, “Do you know what it was?” 

“Some poison, it got in the wound on his arm.”

Zenyatta made a soft sound, “I can see. The skin around the wound is beginning to necrose.”

Oh no, Hanzo couldn’t quite stifle the sharp gasp through his nose, McCree’s gun arm. “Will the limb survive?”

“I do not know, better that I begin now,” Zenyatta say down at the American’s side, his strange collection of orbs tumbling around him. He nodded at Genji, “It was good of you to bring them here, my student.”

“You have saved me enough times, I could think of no one else,” Genji said, his voice tired and threaded with stress, but there was almost a note of humor in it. 

Zenyatta hummed, “That means you should take better care of yourself.” The Omnic held his hands out and golden energy collected over the nodes in his palms. “As glad as I always am to help you heal I would be _most_ gratified, my student, if you would simply—“

A sound on the roof above had every head in the room snapping up.

It was quiet, just a simple sound of something against the tile. It could’ve been an owl, alighting there. Hanzo’s hand fell to his bow again.

“Everyone to the main room,” Morrison murmured quietly, “Get ready.”

Genji snarled softly, “We led them _right to him_!”

“Genji,” Zenyatta said, voice gentle, “One worry at a time. Find your center, reach for calm. I am fine for now, and you have done a good thing.”

Genji nodded sharply, the headguard on his helmet slicing down once with the motion, “Yes, Master. I will not let them near you.” He stood abruptly, heading out, Morrison and Reinhardt following. Hanzo lingered in the door, watching the still, pale body of McCree

Zenyatta turned to Lúcio, “If you would stay and assist me while I tend to this man, I would be most grateful.”

The musician nodded, “I got you.” He looked up and nodded at Hanzo, “Don’t worry, man.”

It was all that could be offered.

Hanzo nodded and followed the others out. 

Morrison was positioned to the right of a doorway, Helix rifle up, Tracer on the other side, pistols ready. 

“Genji went out the window to God-knows-where. Reinhardt took the back,” 76 said, voice low and tight, “Hold until they make their move.”

“I need to get out there,” Hanzo murmured, “I am useless in this building.”

“Yeah, join the fucking club,” Morrison grouched, voice low. 

All three of them froze as a soft scuffling sound above them drew their attention, and they watched the ceiling, trying to figure out the exact spot of the noise.

Suddenly there was a muffled sound and burst of irritated Japanese and when they opened the front a Talon agent fell from the roof, sliced open by a katana strike. 

Hanzo had only a moment to look out and see flickering green lights and hear Morrison’s frustrated mutter, “Well _he’s_ still an impulsive little shit,” before all hell broke loose.

There was a scatter of gunfire from the roof and several cries of surprise. No one was expecting the ninja. 

Hanzo’s let a smile flicker briefly over his mouth as he brought his bow off his shoulder, the expression more nostalgia than amusement. They never were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be the last chapter with action in it for awhile, things will calm down for a bit after that. Thank God, they need a break. Shit, so do I.


	15. Raid and Resplendence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Death appears whimsical today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am really not happy with this chapter, it's not up to my standards and it's probably got errors and I wish I'd had an extra day or two to work it up, but I don't.
> 
> The fans on my NEW video card are busted, which means it can't support anything strenuous, like ANY video game. Fortunately it's under warranty... unfortunately that means I have to ship my whole rig off to the manufacturer to get warranty-covered work done, even though the part is removable. It's stupid. So stupid, but at least I'm not paying for it.
> 
> However this means I won't have a computer for between 10-14 days, which means I can't update. I'll continue writing, but there will be a slightly longer than normal break between chapters.

Talon tried to flank and come over all four of the shallow walls, agents in black gear, masked faces and sleek automatic weapons dropping in around the temple, attempting to surround. Attempting to overwhelm the wearied, weakened fragments of Overwatch. 

“Bring. It. On!” Reinhardt’s roar pierced the overall quiet and there’s the churning roar of his engine flaring to life and sudden cries of alarm because Reinhardt’s hard to miss, but he could be a hell of a surprise. Hanzo could pick out the sound of three distinct shots from that direction and knew the German man will have his hands full.

Two were firing in from the main entrance, staying in cover, and Hanzo spotted more coming over the Eastern wall. 

Hanzo brought his storm bow off his shoulder and sprinted up the roof in time to see Genji’s wakizashi flash, deflecting a spray of gunfire, before he struck forward like a flash of neon light and left his opponent crumpled. “Roof is clear,” Genji said shortly, “You take the front; I will take the west side and check on Reinhardt in the back.”

Hanzo nodded curtly, watching as Genji leapt and flipped down into the yard below and stepped up to the edge of the roof, scatter arrow slipping into his bowstring and taking aim before he let fly through the main entrance, hearing the choked cries as his arrow separated, armor-piercing projectiles bouncing. He saw one stumble and fall over in the entry, the other staggering through the threshold, holding a bleeding wound. 

Another arrow came out but there was a flicker of blue and a whirr of pistol fire and Tracer blew through the front of the temple yard, taking the injured agent down. Her spirit seemed to have come back in full and she blinked from stone to stone through the Zen garden, her guns pulsing rapid fire, she and Morrison picking off a few that had made it over the wall. Her laugh carried and for a moment and stillness settled, the garden cleared. 

“Ha!” She crowed and pointed to the clean lines raked through the sand, “Still perfect!”

There was a sound behind Hanzo and he whirled grabbing the talon agent behind him, snapping his neck and dropping him down to land heavily in the sand of the garden and heard Tracer yelp in surprise. 

“…Never mind!” She said a moment later. 

Hanzo felt a smile touch his mouth. He could relate, could understand where her happiness and energy seemed to bloom from. It felt like hope had returned. For the moment at least, there was a light to hold onto, and things were not so bleak.

Hope was a strange thing. He had not felt the need to rely upon _hope_ in so long. 

It twisted his stomach like a serpent and raised his heart like a bird. 

He had to believe McCree would be well. He could fight back with his bow and defend, but all that really mattered was that for this moment at least, he _believed_.

An agent suddenly ran from behind the building and there was a sudden roar of engine flare and Reinhardt rocketed through the reflection pool, giving chase, smashing into the fleeing foe and smashing him into the wall. The talon agent fell to the ground, limp and Reinhardt whirled, hammer coming around, looking for his next foe. He found none, “Is that all?” He boomed.

“Get. _Back_!” Lúcio suddenly comes skidding out of the temple, the lights from his blades leaving a streak of green in the air behind him, driving his shoulder hard into the body of another agent. The amplifier came out and he released a burst of raw sound, physically pushing him back through the air.

Hanzo leapt from the roof, bow drawn, nocking an arrow midair, fear coursing back through him, _how had they gotten inside_? 

A gold orb suddenly flew from within, spinning around Lúcio, connected by a tendril of light, and the musician rolled his shoulder, amplifier up and ready, pointing at the man. Hanzo landed, spotting the Omnic, Zenyatta, had stepped from the back room, his nine orbs suspended in a slowly turning orbit and glowing faintly. Within on the ground is another body, an orb of dark violet dissipating over him. 

“Master!” Genji had dropped down, worry clear in his voice but he was rushing forward—

Hanzo whirled, seeing the last talon agent struggle up from Lúcio’s bump, something clutched in his hand. 

Genji snarled and the long, black shimmer of his dragonblade slipped from its sheath and he slashed forward and his blade connected, a glittering dragon afterimage caught in the arc of the strike. Within Hanzo’s arm he felt the twins stir in recognition. 

The object in the agents hand loosed as he toppled backward, a grenade spinning through the air with the haphazard toss, the pin in his hand. 

The agent was dead before he hit the ground. 

The grenade landed within the temple at Zenyatta’s feet.

It was perhaps the longest single instant of Hanzo’s life. 

There was nothing to get behind for protection; part of the temple would be mulched—

McCree, oh no, _McCree—_

The others—

“Master—!” He half-heard Genji’s desperate cry and he knew, Genji was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop this—

And then the world erupted—

No.

It _bloomed_ and all Hanzo could perceive was _light_.

Words buffeted against his heart like truth, _Pass into the Iris_.

The grenade exploded, Hanzo could feel it but felt no force, no burn, no wounds. Fire and shrapnel passed over him like water and wind, he felt plumes of the explosion brush against his cheeks like feathers. There was no pain and even the delicate paper of the walls and doors remained intact.

Zenyatta was suspended in the temple, looking like the wrath and benevolence of a churning heaven, orbs suspended like nine brilliant suns, six arms of shining gold outstretched, as if they could hold the entire world at bay. 

It was over in less than a moment, the monk shining like a beacon for seconds longer before the light dimmed and he settled on his feet again lightly. 

“Whoa,” Hanzo heard behind him and found Tracer, Reinhardt, and Lúcio staring, 76 leaning heavily on the armored arm of the Crusader.

Zenyatta leaned down and picked up a piece of shrapnel at his feet, looking at it with his head tilted, “Death appears whimsical today.”

Genji straightened and stormed over, growling, “I _hate_ it when you do that, Master. You always wait until the last second.” Zenyatta laughed softly, and while Genji did not reach out and touch the Omnic there was a clear shift as he looked the machine over, checking for damage.

“I am fine, my student. Just more excitement than I am used to.” He turned and looked out at the others. “Now, which one of you is injured? I can practically feel the disharmony radiating.”

There was a moment of quiet and then Reinhardt and Tracer both pointed at Morrison, “He got punched in the face by a ghost,” the slim Brit supplied. 

Morrison sighed, “Insubordinate, all of you.”

\--

Zenyatta went back to the backroom and settled back by McCree’s side. Lúcio flopped down, boosting up the soothing tones on his amplifier again. Genji had slipped in behind them and took a post next to the door, keeping guard over the threshold. Hanzo did not enter, but waited outside, watching. 

The others had taken spots in the main area of the temple. Reinhardt had removed part of his armor, hammer sitting on the floor. Tracer paced as though she couldn’t sit still. Morrison leaned against the wall, a little orb of golden light turning over his shoulder. He glanced up at it from time to time, blue eyes tired, and lifted a hand to bat at it, as though it could be knocked away. 

Hanzo felt a little remiss, but he had only eyes for the still form of the American, laid out on the futon. He was so pale now, he looked bloodless, the wound on his arm was ugly, the edges of the ragged rend of flesh turning black, the blood coagulated around it without scabbing. 

“It looks bad,” Lúcio murmured, expression wan and Zenyatta nodded.

“It is, but neither he nor his arm are beyond saving yet. Though it will take perhaps a bit more than a simple orb of harmony could offer.” The Omnic probed the wound with surprising gentle mechanical fingers and McCree twitched in unconsciousness, a shallow wheeze escaping his throat. 

Hanzo took a step forward without thinking, but Zenyatta nodded satisfied, “A good sign, he is not that far gone.” The Omnic shifted, spine arching and hands spreading out to the side.”

Genji titled his head, watching, “Are you sure you can Transcend a second time, Master?”

“I am spiritually drained yes, but exhaustion is a small price to pay for saving a man’s life.” He glanced at Lúcio, “Keep up your music for a bit longer, I need a moment to center myself. I will not be able to hold the metaphysical state for as long.”

Genji nodded, settling back, but he shifted as though restless and ill-at-ease. 

Hanzo turned when he heard people getting up, finding Reinhardt, Tracer, and Morrison all wearily on their feet again. “Where are you three going?” He couldn’t imagine leaving at a time like this.

“Gonna clean up the mess,” Morrison gestured to the body, “God knows what we’ll do with them, but it’ll take us quite a bit of time to deal with this, and we weren’t quiet. Time is of the essence and it’ll be harder when the sun comes up.”

_“Athena and I been holding things down,”_ Winston’s voice came in suddenly, and Hanzo jumped, having forgotten about the bud in his ear. _“But it’s going to be quite a feat to try and deal with not one but two battlefields littered with the fallen.”_

Hanzo spoke softly, “That yakuza presence in this city is strong. In the years since Shimada fell there have been quite a few crime syndicates vying for control. See if you can fabricate enough calls to implicate a clash. If the bodies here are moved quickly enough we may be able to implicate them the same way.”

Genji snorted softly from his position against the wall, “That will create quite a mess behind the scenes, your group will have to lay low for awhile.”

_“Not a bad idea and it’s the only one we have,”_ Winston allowed.

“’Your group’?” Lúcio snorted, eyes down on his amplifier, “Think you helped create this mess, Mr. Green Ninja.”

Genji remained silent, and simply tilted his head at the musician, the green visor impassable and giving away nothing.

Lúcio laughed sheepishly, “Eesh, sorry I said anything.”

_“Think you can manage, Morrison?”_ Winston asked, trying to bring the conversation back around to the issue at hand.

76 nodded with a sigh, “I think so. God this night never ends.”

Hanzo hesitated, glancing back at the room and a soft hand on his arm made him jump. He found Tracer looking up at him with a small smile on her face, “You stay here. We can manage and I know you want to.”

“I should help,” he murmured, “it’s a big job, and time is short.”

“He’ll want you here, when he wakes up,” She said instead, and Hanzo’s eyes turned back to the room.

“I am not so certain. I said… cruel things to him. Many cruel things.”

“Well hey, Jesse’s a decent kind guy. I’m sure he’d be willing to hear out an apology, if you wanna make one.”

He nodded, “I will… I will stay, if you can spare me.”

Morrison waved him off, “Stay, I don’t care. Besides, we’ve got Reinhardt. He can make up for it.”

The big German grinned, though the expression was more tired than exuberant, “I will happily pick up the slack. It is what teams do!”

Teams. 

So many mistakes he’d made. 

“Hey, Big Guy!” Lúcio waved, “We’ll make sure you get a hell of a nap, after, aight?”

Reinhardt saluted to him and stretched, “Let us go, before we lose the night.”

They turned and departed, dragging the body within the temple with them when they went. Hanzo watched them go, feeling a tired kind of gratitude and more feelings than he really knew how to name. 

“I am sufficiently ready,” Zenyatta said quietly. His head tilted up and he Transcended again, quieter this time, hovering over the floor, the six golden arms manifesting again and as the light eased around him Hanzo felt more at peace than he had in years. He fought against the urge to close his eyes, he needed to see.

The light brushed against the walls and all those seated within like gentle waves lapping against the shore. Before his eyes Hanzo saw the wound on McCree’s arm bleed anew, the coagulated blood loosening from the wound and the off-color flesh fading, the injury slowly closing as skin and muscle knitted back together until not even a mark remained behind. 

There was a ragged gasp from the cowboy but it was strong, nothing of the wet wheeze left. 

Hanzo took a step forward and the golden light dimmed and faded. Zenyatta touched down on the floor and then slumped forward with a small sound, nearly toppling over. 

“Master,” Genji scrambled over, arms going around the Omnic and easing him upright.

“I am fine, my student, just weary. Help me against the wall, I will shut down soon to hibernate.”

Genji nodded and helped his master over, but Hanzo only half paid attention to any of that. His attention was absorbed on the American laid out on the futon. His breathing steady, his color returned. 

McCree’s breath hitched, and his eyes opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna put a grenade at slightly less destructive than say, a Riptire, so yeah, gonna say Zen can Transcend that shit and save people. Fight me. I don't care. 
> 
> Again I want to reiterate sadly that there will be a slightly longer break between this chapter and the next because my computer is out of commission for 10-14 days. 
> 
> I WILL BE BACK.


	16. Sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaaa. Betcha thought I was dead. 
> 
> I ain't.
> 
> Comp is back, more or less working. So we can resume with this mess of a story, but as an apology this chapter is about a thousand words longer than I usually try and space them at. Which isn't much, but hey. 
> 
> I'll go ahead and warn you though that the next update will be a little slower in coming, I am both taking part in NaNoWriMo and attending Blizzcon this weekend, which will chunk out my writing time, and I didn't get as much buffer written for this as I wanted, but we'll keep trucking along.

McCree blinked slowly after waking, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. His mouth worked a little, as if tasting something unpleasant. He stared blankly for a long time and neither Hanzo nor Lúcio said anything, holding their breath in apprehension. Genji busied himself with the Omnic, and other than the slight cant of his visor there was no indicator he was even paying attention. Then McCree’s head tilted, looking around, finding the musician first and he finally spoke, “Anyone get the plates of the truck that hit me?”

Hanzo nearly sighed in relief and Lúcio laughed a little, giving the cowboy a suspiciously watery smile, “Yeah, sure thing, man.” He clapped McCree’s shoulder—lightly—and continued, “How’re you feeling?”

“Like hell,” The cowboy rasped, “I feel emptied out. Exhausted and gutted. Nothin’ left.”

Lúcio nodded and turned his amplifier back on, playing his soothing, rejuvenating music, “Let’s see if this helps any.”

“Where the hell is everyone?” McCree asked again, voice rough.

“Most a’ the team is out cleaning up the mess left from our firefights,” Lúcio explained, tweaking the settings on his tool just so. 

“What the hell happened to me? Shit, what the hell happened in general? How much did I miss?” he tried to sit up, body shaking with the struggle of even such a simple movement exhausting. 

Hanzo stepped in at this point, laying a firm hand on his shoulder to still further movement and keep him laying down. “You stepped in front of a corrosive chemical grenade. You are lucky you didn’t lose your _arm_.”

Thinking about it all over brought a fresh flush of anger and worry to his system. God the American was _so stupid_ , but he tamped down on it, trying to rein the feeling in. His anger issues had no place here and now.

They had no place at all anymore. He had to do better.

McCree jumped a bit, startled, blinking up at him, eyes wide but a touch wary, unsure how this exchange would go. “Shit, my flesh arm?” He turned his head, lifting his human limb into his line of sight and breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“It was close,” Hanzo said quietly, “Very close.”

“Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” He quipped, tired.

Lúcio snickered, white teeth flashing, “I think hand grenades got you into this mess. Let’s stick with horseshoes.”

“How’d you heal me?” McCree asked him and Lúcio gave him a slightly embarrassed smile.

“I didn’t really. Just postponed it a bit. You can thank them,” He jerked his finger behind towards the wall, where Genji was carefully arranging an already-hibernating Zenyatta.

McCree laughed, “Well as I live and breathe, Genji fucking Shimada.”

Genji took a moment longer, settling the Omnic’s arms across his lap, the monk’s array blinking in slow, nonsense patterns. He touched the Omnic’s crown lightly and then turned to the American, “It almost wasn’t. Any longer and it would not be ‘as you live and breathe’ at all, and my Master would’ve been too late to save your limb and possibly your life.” He sat next to McCree, legs folded unconsciously in lotus—so strange he now defaulted to that and not to kneeling—and nudged his shoulder, “it is reassuring to see that years have not changed your foolish American impulsiveness.”

McCree sighed, “Goddamn, there really are two of you now. Shit, I am never catching a break.”

Genji snorted, “Perhaps it says something that my brother has known you for only a period of weeks and has already caught onto your foolishness.”

“Yer prob’ly right,” McCree chuckled tiredly, “Still though, wakin’ up from apparently nearly dying and findin’ you here? What the _hell_ did I _miss_?”

\--

The explanation of the events of the night was surprisingly brief, the story reduced down to its bare-bone essentials of ghost, grenade, Genji, and grenade _again_ , but also because McCree fell asleep in the middle. When it became clear the American was struggling to remain conscious they wrapped it up and let him drift off. 

Lúcio set up his amplifier to keep playing and slumped against the wall to doze himself and Genji returned to his Omnic Master’s side. Satisfied that nothing would happen with all of them there he finally felt secure enough to step out of the room and Hanzo slid the paper door mostly-closed behind him for the illusion of privacy.

He headed around the temple, making slow circuits of the grounds, keeping an eye open for anything else that wanted to happen. Satisfied that the immediate areas were quiet he went up to the roof again to keep a lookout, hiding in the crook of two planes of the roof meeting. It had not been a night for relaxing. 

The false pre-dawn light was off-blue on the Hanamuran skyline by the time he saw the others filter back into the temple grounds quietly. Their return was a welcome distraction from the memories of this place. Morrison waved to him tiredly and Reinhardt looked about five minutes from collapsing outright. 

There was a faint whirr and flicker of blue and he wasn’t even a little surprised to find Tracer sitting next to him up on the roof. He nodded to her, “Done?”

“Much as we can be, yeah,” She agreed. “Winston and Athena are gonna keep an ear on things, but I think he might be ready to pass out too. Poor guy’s probably chewed his fingernails to nothin’ being stuck in Gibraltar.”

Hanzo nodded, “You should get some rest as well.”

She sighed, “I’m a little fresher than the others. Been rewinding to conserve energy, but I am pretty tired. Ah well, didn’t join Overwatch for the relaxation, eh?”

“McCree woke up briefly,” he told her, “Said he felt emptied out and overtired. Lúcio and I told him as much as we could before he went to sleep again.”

“Good,” She said, sagging a bit, “Load off my mind, that.”

Hanzo nodded, “We’ll have to have the Omnic look at him again when he wakes. Seems everyone is ready to start their own rest.”

“You should too, you’ve been up just as long as the rest of us.”

He shook his head, “I am very tired, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep. You should rest more than I. You’ve been working.”

She nudged his shoulder, “Makes two of us. Two pairs of eyes about are probably better’n one anyhow.”

He nodded and let her stay, lapsing into the silence. His mind was far too full for rest. He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes, wishing his mind would _still_ , not for sleep but for silence. The sound of McCree’s wheezing breaths and the wary look he’d gotten lingered behind his eyelids with intent.

He knew Tracer was staring at him. He could feel her eyes on him. It was still somehow a shock when she spoke, “It’s hard living with mistakes.”

He looked over at her tiredly, “What?”

She took her goggles off and ran a hand through her perpetually-tousled hair. “When ya muck it up and s’all ya can think about,” She smiled but it wasn’t excited or happy, a strange sort of resigned expression. “It’s hard looking back and wishin’ ya could change things.”

Hanzo snorted, “You can control time,” He pointed out. 

She nodded, “My own. And yeah tonight I changed my own death at least twice, rewinding back to wellness or blinking out of a shot. But even with that power there are some things I can’t undo. It seems all the worse, I suppose.” She looked over at him, “Did you ever hear about the Omnic named ‘Tekharta Mondatta?”

Hanzo recognized the similar name to the machine that hibernated somewhere below him, and the name tickled at his mind a bit, vaguely recalling his first visit to Gibraltar at the meeting table, but it was not a clear understanding and so shook his head.

“He was a monk, one of the Shambali. Givin’ a speech in King’s Row. I was there to watch him.” She smiled, “I love the Omnic people, I think they’re so interestin’. So diverse and creative and different. They’re not _like_ people, they _are_ people. I was so excited for it.” She smiled brighter but shook her head sadly. “He was assassinated that night. I tried to save ‘im. Almost did. But the assassin—“ Her eyes darkened, “—a _Talon_ assassin knew I was going to blink, and sent the killing shot right through where I’d been a split second before.” She shook her head, “I still think about it every day. Been over it a million times in my head, trying to think of what I could’ve done different. I still feel rotten if I dwell too long.”

Hanzo remained quiet for a moment, sure to gather his words carefully. He didn’t want to offer an untrue condolence, “And sometimes things are inevitable, even for someone like you,” He said, understanding. 

She nodded, “Sometimes they are. And they stay with ya’ though days an’ weeks an’ years. I don’t wanna lecture ya, I’m not your mum, but it makes the mistakes we can fix all the more important, yeah? ”

He sighed, “I cannot argue with that. I can only hope I am allowed the chance to fix them. That I deserve such a chance.”

She shook her head, “Everyone deserves a chance to fix things. Rightin’ a wrong never comes too late. No such thing.”

“Ah, but forgiveness can have such a time limit,” He huffed a soft sigh through his nose, “I only hope in that respect, I am not too late.”

She reached up and squeezed his shoulder, “I can’t imagine you are.”

\--

Midmorning came and Hanzo was exhausted but he wasn’t _sleepy_. He found himself making slow rounds about the grounds again, through the Zen garden and by the reflecting pool and back again. 

Eventually his feet took him back inside, steps falling silently, his upbringing shouting at him for wearing his boots inside, but he wasn’t yet ready to let his guard down enough to take them off. The others slept soundly; even Tracer had finally conked out and was tucked against one of Reinhardt’s massive sides. He slipped into the back room and found McCree still asleep, snoring softly, even Lúcio was out like a light against the wall. 

By the other wall the Omnic still slumped faintly in his hibernation.

Genji was seated before him in an identical lotus, watching the nonsense patterns that blinked over his array. 

Hanzo watched his brother, equal parts endeared and uncomfortable, remembering as a boy when Genji would watch with the same intensity, trying to catch the sparrows that used the birdbath. He never managed it then, but Hanzo wasn’t certain this strange, alien incarnation of his brother couldn’t do it. 

“You should be asleep,” The words startled him, just as much as the Japanese language they came in. Genji’s visor was not tilted toward him, but it seemed foolish to assume he wouldn’t be aware of his presence. 

“I cannot,” Hanzo said simply, running a hand through his hair and making a face when he couldn’t card his fingers through the knots. He needed to brush it and he could feel the silk scarf loosening into a sloppy tie. “What about you? You have been up all night as well.”

“I only need to hibernate for an hour or two at a time. I can put it off awhile longer,” His shoulders hunched a bit, “I want to be sure my Master wakes safely.”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow, “Could it be unsafe?”

“When he dreams after Transcendence they can be particularly vivid, and sometimes they trouble him.” Genji’s focus never faltered, predator-sharp in its intensity. “He Transcended twice tonight, something I have never seen him do in so short a span of time. I want to be sure all is well.”

Hanzo leaned against the wall, feeling all over again how _strange_ it was to see his impossible younger sibling so quiet and aware and attentive to another. “How did you meet him? How did you come to serve him?”

“I do not serve him as you are thinking. He is my teacher,” Genji offered the truth simply and made no effort to hide his place with the Omnic. “I had… a great deal of anger. At you, at Overwatch, at myself… for _years_. He helped me work through it.” 

“And how did you meet him? I cannot imagine how you would submit yourself so to another even back when you were happy.” He regretted the wording immediately, but Genji didn’t seem to take offense at it. 

“An accident I ended up in Nepal. I wandered for years and eventually decided I didn’t want to see another person for a very long time. I’d been in India at that point and it was a simple trip to head to the mountains to train. No one accepted or understood me, and I felt an outcast every step I took.”

Hanzo frowned, “I am surprised you are being so forthright with me.”

Genji turned to glance at him then, “Have we not had enough confusion and complication between us? If I can clear the air some with a simple story then should I not tell it?”

Hanzo looked away this time, uncomfortable, “…Go on then.”

Genji turned back to the hibernating Omnic as though he couldn’t avert his eyes for long, “I found the village at the base of the temple after a few weeks on the mountains, completely by accident. It was a surprise, both to find the village and because they didn’t react at all to seeing me. Perhaps some surprise at seeing a newcomer but not at all seeing what I was. They asked if I were there to visit the monks and I had no idea what they meant. I went higher on the mountain to see and found Shambali temple. 

“It is an amazing sight, Hanzo. Even through all my carelessness of the world I was awed by it. I didn’t go in then or even approach. But I found myself returning in the following weeks, curious and interested for the first time in years. Zenyatta was…” He paused here, and again Hanzo tried to place this strange, intense focus his brother had on the Omnic asleep before him, “He was the first of the Shambali I saw. I caught him in the village one day playing with the children. Sort of. I hid on one of the roofs and watched, a little… uncertain about approaching.” He shook his head, “The children were trying to knock him over, he had four of them on him and was unbowed. They shouted and laughed and he was laughing too and tolerating every moment of it with this kind benevolence I had never see in another person.”

Such a strange fixation, Hanzo frowned a bit, trying and _trying_ to figure out this strange puzzle that was his brother. “And eventually you approached him?”

Genji snorted, an odd sound though his visor, “No, he saw me. He invited me to join them. I did not, and left, but… my curiosity was not assuaged, and burned brighter than ever. I returned time and time again to see him, and eventually he coaxed me closer. It is hard not to listen when he speaks, and eventually I stopped leaving altogether. I have been at his side ever since. If I can help it, I will not be parted from it.”

And suddenly it _clicked_ for Hanzo. “You’ve gone and fallen in love with your Omnic, haven’t you?” The accusation is out of his mouth before he could rein it back, because it sounded just as crazy aloud as it did in his thoughts but no less _true_. 

Genji went completely, inhumanly still before him, not even a flicker of movement. Then, after a long and telling silence, he spoke slowly, angrily, “How very maddening that somehow you still know me well enough to see.”

“Isn’t he your teacher?” Hanzo asked, bewildered somehow by the affirmation even though he’d known it true. “This _Omnic_?”

“Say not a single word of this to him, Hanzo,” Genji snarled softly, controlling his volume. “I brought you back into my life by choice but this is not your business to meddle and judge in.”

There were a thousand protests Hanzo had churning in his mind at the idea, all sitting on the tip of his tongue to throw at Genji like acid. This was a robot, this wasn’t even a real person, it was artificial, it was _wrong_. It—He—it was Genji’s _teacher_ , had some measure of power over him, his brother that used to be so finicky with his attention and rare with his affection had gone and fallen for an _Omnic—_

But Hanzo was also—he swallowed and glanced at the sleeping form of McCree, snoring softly and possibly drooling—Hanzo was _trying_. Had this conversation with Genji happened a year ago, he would’ve spat on this idea with revulsion and immediate derision. But now Hanzo was trying. Trying to be different, trying to find some piece of himself still willing to _grow_ and be _better_ than he was. He felt like an old hollowed out tree with just a few bits of new-growth green determinedly stretching for the sun. He watched McCree a moment more and averted his gaze. If Genji could let go and find some path to healing, then Hanzo had no excuse and no room to point fingers and fling words.

So he temped down on all those vile accusations lodged in his throat and instead said only, “How strange for you. Falling for the younger man.”

Genji’s visor finally whipped around to look at him in full and that felt like enough of a victory that Hanzo knew he’d made the right choice. He stared at Hanzo through that unchanging green line of his visor and the elder Shimada didn’t need to see to know Genji’s jaw may as well be hanging slack.

At least he never lost _one_ aspect of being an elder brother if he could still cause absolute consternation in his sibling with a single sentence. He could work on the rest. Maybe he could actually count on having time to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Hanzo. He struggles. 
> 
> I might enjoy character interaction too much. 
> 
> Onward friends!


	17. His Brother's Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As long as he does not think I kidnapped you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things that were awesome: Blizzcon
> 
> Things that sucked: Germs on airplanes.
> 
> I've been sick and just wheezing sadly at everyone. I had literally no give-a-fuck for like a week and got very little writing done. Sorry for the tardiness.

Hanzo had left Genji there, bewildered and out of sorts and gone back to making slow rounds. It felt good to get the last word in for once, not that he imagined it would last. Not if there was even a shadow of the troublemaker Genji had once been inside that strange cybernetic shell. But Genji didn’t chase him, staying instead beside his Omnic Master—Crush? Who knew, why did Genji always have to make things so _complicated_ —so Hanzo continued his way outside.

He felt his exhaustion continue to creep up on him, and took a position on the main deck of the temple and sat, feeling his eyes start to get heavy. He’d been hoping to last until the others started waking, but at least Genji was awake still. It would have to do. 

His head bowed forward and his mind drifted as he sat there, weariness making his thoughts wander. He thought he might tumble straight into slumber, but wakefulness lingered, and he drifted for what might’ve been hours. 

He was so tired but his mind churned. His thoughts chased one another like rabid dogs and he was so tired. His body felt spent and his limbs trembled.

He couldn’t quite seem to tip over into outright—

\--

“I have been told you are not merely another Overwatch agent, but are in actuality Genji’s elder brother.”

Hanzo started from his light doze to find the Omnic Zenyatta standing nearby, his hands folded before him, head tilted lightly with inquiry. 

“Who told you that?” he asked cautiously, biting back a yawn and peering around. The light had changed, closer to afternoon now. How long had he been out here?

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you. I overheard it mentioned in a conversation between the young woman, Ms. Tracer, and the large German fellow, Reinhardt, I believe?”

Hanzo nodded slowly, knowing the rest of the team must all be starting to wake. Good, one less thing to worry about. 

“May I join you?” Zenyatta asked when the archer didn’t respond, and Hanzo nodded again to give his assent. The Omnic sat next to him carefully, sinking into an effortless lotus, “Thank you.”

“I am surprised to see you out here without Genji,” Hanzo said slowly, eyes flitting to the door as if the cyborg might come barreling through, sword drawn.

Zenyatta chuckled, “He is in the midst of his own hibernation. I believe the music from your friend’s amplifier may have lulled him a bit more prematurely than he’d have done otherwise. I did not wish to disturb him. He is strong, but he forgets to take care of himself.”

“As long as he does not think I kidnapped you.”

This startled a proper laugh from the Omnic, “I doubt it, though I would be happy to clear up any misconceptions that may arise.”

“Why were the two of you in Hanamura?” He asked instead of all he wanted to. 

“I am taking care of this temple while its normal inhabits are elsewhere. The monks are on a mission trip into rural India, and I was all too happy to assist. Usually one or two must stay behind here, but with my assistance all were able to make the journey.”

“I did not think you were Buddhist,” Hanzo frowned, because he’d admit he didn’t exactly understand all that the Omnic religion entailed. 

“No, but the Shambali religion shares similar values with Buddhism just as surely as we differ on other intrinsic ideals. We are good friends, and I was glad to help.” He looked out at the yard where a few Hanamuran cherry trees were clinging to their last sparse flush of blooms. “I also believe it is good for Genji to be here, and I learn much while we are.”

“I cannot imagine you came out here to make small talk with me,” Hanzo said warily. This Omnic was an unknown.

“Not specifically, no,” Zenyatta agreed, “But I simply wanted to meet you. Nothing grander than that. It is good to have a face to go with the stories.”

“To know the face of your student’s killer?” he asked, cold.

“To know the face of my student’s family,” Zenyatta corrected gently. “I will admit some concern for you as well, Hanzo Shimada. I sense within you the same rage that once consumed your brother.”

Hanzo bristled, “We are nothing alike!”

Zenyatta merely tilted his head in wordless and pointed reply.

Hanzo turned away just as pointedly, scowling off at nothing. 

“You are very much alike,” Zenyatta told him softly, “You are brothers.”

“I am not so certain of that anymore,” Hanzo said, “I severed that family tie with my sword long ago.”

“Do you think sharing blood, growing up side-by-side, and more of memories and experiences together are so easily dismissed? You are family and all that entails.”

Hanzo snorted his disbelief, uncomfortable.

“It is true,” Zenyatta insisted. “He had very few possessions when he lived in Nepal but one of them was a picture of the two of you as young men.”

“Was it?” Hanzo asked softly, for a moment the weight of memories and the scent of Sakura too much for him. 

“It was. _Brothers_ ,” he insisted again. “I know something of losing a brother.”

“Do you?” he asked, “I find that hard to believe for an Omnic.”

“Your doubts are understandable, and not unfounded, if I am honest,” Zenyatta agreed, “But they are not correct in this case. My brother died in England, King’s Row. He was assassinated.”

Memory tickled from just earlier on the roof, “Tekharta Mondatta?’

Zenyatta straightened and nodded, “Indeed that is correct. Mondatta was as dear to me as family, though we are neither flesh nor blood.” The monk sagged a bit, “He died and our last parting before that was in conflict and disagreement. It is something I will regret for the rest of my life. Perhaps because of this I feel personally invested in the conflict between you and Genji, besides the fact that he is a dear student of mine.”

Hanzo considered saying something, _insinuating_ something about what he knew, how _dear_ this robot was to Genji, but if he were honest he wasn’t sure yet he wanted to test the cyborg’s patience. Genji’s conversion to this strange Omnic almost-Buddhism aside. “I lived with that feeling for many years,” Hanzo said softly.

“I will never live without it now, my regret will follow me like a shadow,” Zenyatta replied. “You have been given a rare chance to not only move past it, but to reconcile. Is that not worth something? Is that not worth _everything_?”

The shame was thick in Hanzo’s throat, his pride warring with his regret and the knot of emotion threatened to strangle him. 

“Genji forgives you. Perhaps it is time you forgave him, and forgave yourself.”

The Omnic’s voice was almost damnably gentle and Hanzo shook his head, feeling a faint smile that had everything to do with regret and nothing to do with amusement tug about his mouth. “I see why Genji latches onto you so. You almost make it sound as though anything were possible.”

Zenyatta reached over to pat Hanzo’s shoulder, “Anything is.”

\--

They had sat silently for a time, side by side on the porch, the conversation lost in a comfortable lull. Hanzo’s mind again too full for sleep, but when he finally for-certain heard the stirrings of the rest of the team inside he excused himself and took a position on the roof again. They would be defended on the ground; his eyes above would be more useful. He settled back against the crook of the roof, bow leaning beside him.

God he was tired.

If only he could sleep—

If only could—

\--

Hanzo didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up on the roof of the small temple to voices below in the small temple yard. The afternoon was bright and warm around them and the air was almost still and he blinked aware with the lethargy of a premature waking without true _rest_. His attention focused slowly, the voices below resolving into intelligible conversation.

“—drive me _crazy_ , Master. You could’ve woken me up—“

“You needed your rest, Genji,” an Omnic voice replied.

“I wanted to be sure you were well—“

“Your concern is always touching, but I am not so fragile as that, my Student.”

Genji and Zenyatta then. 

He should leave. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping on them like this. And yet… he shifted and peered over the edge of the roof. An opportunity was an opportunity, and there was so much he didn’t know about the both of them.

The Omnic was sitting below with a gathering of sakura petals piled in the cradle of the drape in his lap. He was laying them out in some sort of pattern on a small table, low to the ground with a careful hand, deciding where each and every petal should lie. 

“I know, I know!” Genji’s shoulders visibly scrunched, his back to his brother’s watchful gaze and Hanzo spent a moment marveling at how intense and intimidating the cyborg was against all comers, but how very _tame_ he was with this Omnic, how almost _human_ he acted. “That does not mean I am not concerned for you. You’ve been troubled by dreams before.”

“I suppose that is true, but you need not worry yourself. Only good dreams this time. Vivid but wonderful. I dreamed of Shamballa, of a perfect golden city, filled with familiar friendly faces and turning orange beneath a setting sun. It was beautiful.”

Genji’s shoulders relaxed, “Good.”

“Besides,” Zenyatta continued, amused, “Clearly you needed your sleep.”

Genji huffed, “It’s not funny, Master.”

“It is a little.”

The cyborg’s sigh was gusty, “Fine.”

Zenyatta chuckled, “I am glad you rested. You need to take better care of yourself. I am surprised you have not tired of my nagging at you to have care.”

“I would not tire of that, Master,” Genji insisted, “I am always glad for your consideration.”

Hanzo gagged soundlessly.

“I know,” Zenyatta said warmly, his hand setting down a petal and then reaching over to squeeze Genji’s knee, the two of them looking at each other for a long moment. Perhaps Genji’s ridiculous crush wasn’t hopeless at least. 

“Master,” Genji murmured and Hanzo shifted ready to scramble and _get out_ if this was about to turn into something he didn’t want to _think about_ let alone _see_ , but Zenyatta interrupted whatever madness seemed to be on the tip of Genji’s tongue.

“Speaking of concern for you, I wanted to know how you were faring,” The Omnic turned back to his arrangement of petals, and Hanzo could begin to see the pattern forming. A mandala, he was making a mandala from the petals. “I worry last night was an unexpected hurdle for you.”

“You mean Hanzo, and the rest of Overwatch,” It wasn’t a question but Zenyatta nodded to it anyway and Genji bowed his head a bit. “I was hoping you would not ask.”

“I know you better than that, my Student,” The Omnic murmured. 

“You do,” Genji agreed, voice soft and he drew a slow breath. “I hesitated, Master,” He said, and Hanzo could hear how thick the shame was in his voice. He shouldn’t be listening to this. He didn’t move. “My old friends in need, one of them dying, my own _brother_ before me, begging for help, and I _hesitated_. I hesitated to help them; I didn’t even make myself known before they spotted me. I had thought… I had thought I was better than this, thought that I had forgiven. Then, in the moment, I could have turned them down, Master. I could have.” He whispered the last, “I could’ve let him die, and made Hanzo bear that. I could have.”

So, he had thought about it. Hanzo was surprised at how _unsurprised_ he was. He felt the familiar simmer of anger, but it was a pale thing compared to the short fuse of his temper as he had been before. _I would’ve deserved no better _, he knew, _he had every right to leave us for what I did to him_.__

The anger was there, but also, strangely, _relief_.

He almost felt better knowing that Genji still carried some kernel of anger in him for what Hanzo had done. He wasn’t getting off easy, nor did he deserve to.

And anger was such a _human_ emotion. A glimpse of the man Genji had been before.

Zenyatta hummed, thoughtful for a moment, “But you did not,” he said simply.

Genji tilted his head, “Master?”

“You hesitated, perhaps, but you did not leave them to flounder and possibly die. You did all you could do to offer aid.”

“But that’s not good enough!” Genji was rigid and tense, Hanzo could tell even from the roof.

“Genji,” Zenyatta’s voice was gentle but certain and insistent, “You are entitled to your feelings. No one can tell you how to feel and no one can take them from you. But regardless of how you felt you did the right thing. You did not let your feelings rule you or make your choices for you in the spur of the moment.”

“Master—“

“No one is perfect, Genji. Everyone makes mistakes and has urges and feelings they are not necessarily proud of. There is no shame in having them; only in acting on them or letting them dictate how you behave. You did not and you made the right choice. There is no failing there to feel guilty of. There is no forgiveness or absolution for me to offer you, as you only need to forgive yourself.”

Genji sighed, “I will try, Master. But there is one thing I think you are wrong about.”

“Oh? Please, what might it be?” Zenyatta continued to lay petals in his mandala, expanding the pattern.

“Not everyone is prone to such feelings. Some are better than that. You, for instance.”

Zenyatta paused, hand above his design, poised to drop another, “No. I am not.”

“Master? But—“

“I am not as perfect as I know you hold me to be. But I am the best I can be.” His unchanging face watched Genji, “That is all anyone can be. But I am no more perfect than you or anyone else.”

“Master,” Genji began again, but this time he didn’t seem to know how to say more.

Zenyatta set a last few petals, “There, finished.”

“It’s beautiful,” Genji murmured.

“Will you do the honors for me, Genji?” The Omnic asked and the cyborg nodded, his scarf shivering with the motion and saw Genji reach up and remove his mask. He could not see his brother’s scarred face from behind, but he did not think he could bear it if he did. Genji leaned forward and blew, scattering the petals and the delicate Mandala, and Hanzo stood and dropped down on the other side of the roof.

He did not want to be out there anymore.

He reached out to open the paper door and paused, hand above the wood as he heard voices—as he heard a specific voice—

“—dunno what in the sam hell is goin’ on. Feel like damn newborn kitten—“

McCree was awake.

Hanzo squared his shoulders.

They needed to have a conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we'll be back on track by next chapter. I didn't expect these assholes to do so much talking, but apparently there's a lot to say.
> 
> The html formatting was doing something fucking bizarre when I was posting, so there's one place that needs italics that doesn't have it. I'll try later. Couldn't make it work now.
> 
> I'm gonna try doing that 'reply to comments' thing for Reconstruction now. I get so self-conscious about it and I don't ever want my replies to sound disingenuous, but I'm always genuinely grateful for those who take the time to comment, so I'll try and show it better.


	18. Assessment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Man, lots of healing and no doctors,” Lúcio laughed, flopping down next to Tracer, “How’d we even come to this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's not talk about how late this is and say only that the end of the year has been a somewhat nuts time for me. Hopefully going to get one more chapter out before the new year hits.

Hanzo stepped inside the temple and followed the sound of voices. The door to the backroom was open so he stepped up to the entrance, peering inside to make sure he wasn’t interrupting. Tracer was sitting inside on the floor, cross-legged and rocking back and forth rhythmically, as though she just couldn’t abide being still. Reinhardt was sitting behind McCree, one large hand against the American’s back and probably the only thing actually keeping him upright at all. 

McCree was pale and tired-looking, but healthy, eyes alert and clear, breathing easy, and his hair was adorably askew. Hanzo’s throat bobbed and he reminded himself again he might not be welcome to think such things anymore. Maybe he never was. 

But that was what he had to find out. Among other things. “You’re awake again. Though by the sound of your mutterings you aren’t feeling much better.”

McCree blinked, finding him in the door, “Hanzo! Was wonderin’ where ya ran off too. No one could find ya.”

“Then you didn’t check the roof,” he said with a small quirk of his mouth.

Tracer bonked herself on the forehead, “Lena you dolt, a’ course he was on the damn roof, he was _just on the damn roof_. He climbs _walls_ , where else would he be. I swear you and Genji are _geckos_.”

Hanzo chuckled a bit, “Well next time, try there first.”

“Ya look like shit,” McCree said, not unkindly.

“You’re one to talk, cowboy,” Hanzo fired back.

McCree just looked concerned, “I’m serious, have you slept? Ya look like hell.”

“Some,” Hanzo deflected and came in and sat on the floor nearby, because that was true, he just hadn’t gotten any REM sleep yet. “I’ll sleep soon. You don’t look any better.”

“Shit, I’ve had enough sleep to last a lifetime, ready to _do somethin’_ but my body don’ seem to wanna cooperate.”

Reinhardt laughed, “I will just continue to be your easel and hold you straight then, friend.”

McCree sighed, “Thank you.”

“What’s wrong?” Hanzo asked, concerned.

“Feel like a damn newborn calf, I can’t even stand up. Prob’ly fall over without Reinhardt.” He shifted, “I feel fine, I just have no damn strength.”

Hanzo frowned, “Do we think the Omnic did something? Perhaps he didn’t heal you completely?”

McCree shook his head, “No, I don’t feel sick or hurt, just damn weak and tired. Dunno what the hell is goin’ on.”

“Want me to go get Zenyatta?” Tracer offered, “I’m sure he knows.”

“You may wish to wait to interrupt him,” Hanzo cautioned, remembering the strange moment he’d witnessed with Genji. “But if you do not mind, I would like to have a word with McCree.” He paused, “Alone.”

“Ahh,” Reinhardt said wisely, and let go of McCree gently, letting the cowboy slump forward. “I believe Tracer and I can find something to do for a bit. Come on, Lena.” 

She looked between then, nodded, and the blinked out of the room, Reinhardt’s massive form ducking under the door to step out and slide it shut behind him, for all the privacy the paper door would afford. 

“So, ah,” McCree began awkwardly, “Whatcha wanna talk about, Partner?”

Hanzo’s eyes narrowed, “You stepped in front of that grenade for me. You pushed me out of the way.”

McCree blinked, “Uh, yeah, I reckon that’s true. Everything’s a bit fuzzy ‘bout last night but that sure sounds like somethin’ I’d do.”

“I have,” He began evenly, “Two things to say about that.”

“Okay,” McCree agreed, wary.

“First,” He took a deep breath, “Thank you. You probably saved my life my doing so. So thank you, McCree. I will not forget it.”

“Oh,” he blinked, surprised, a faint flush of red on his face, “Well, no problem, Partner. Don’t remember what I was thinkin’ but I’d wager I prob’ly wasn’t thinkin’ at all. Glad I saved ya though.”

“Which brings me to the second thing,” Hanzo said and scowled, hauling back and punching him in the arm none-too-gently, “You complete _fool!_ ”

McCree yelped, “Hey! Invalid here! Careful!” he pouted, rubbing his arm, “Ain’cha supposed to do that in reverse? Get mad an’ then say thank you so it ends on a high note like in movies?”

“This is not a movie!” Hanzo hissed at him, furious, “This isn’t something we laugh about later!”

“Hanzo—“ McCree tried.

“You could have _died_!” Hanzo had meant to say this with as much anger as he had in him, but when the words came out all he sounded was desperate and sad. He sagged, running a hand over his face. 

He was so very _tired_.

McCree was silent, watching with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

“You could have died,” Hanzo repeated quietly and swallowed, “And whatever can be said about the fact that I do not want to think about the guilt and the pain and the regret I would carry for the rest of my life if that happened does not matter, because the more important thing is that life would be emptier without you in it, and I simply do not want you to die, Jesse McCree.” His jaw worked and he met the gaze of the American head on. “I do not want you to die.”

“Hanzo,” McCree murmured softly and reached out and set his hand on Hanzo’s bare shoulder. 

His hand was large and warm, and the calluses dotting his fingers from his gun rasped faintly against his skin. Hanzo reached up and covered it with his own and squeezed. His throat was tight and his eyes stung traitorously. He didn’t trust his voice and wished McCree could hear instead the thoughts and feelings that had never seemed louder.

_Please don’t die._

_Please don’t leave me, not now._

_I think there’s some part of me that is starting to need you._

McCree’s thumb stroked over his bare skin, “Hey,” He whispered, “M’fine. Or I ain’t gonna keel over, at any rate. Too damn stubborn to kick it and I reckon yer too damn stubborn to let me.”

“If it is within my power,” Hanzo said with as much surety as he could find, fingers curling around McCree’s palm. 

“Sounds like I’m in good hands then,” McCree said, low and smoky. 

Hanzo smiled, faint and tired, and wanted to take this moment and _run_ but something tickled at the edges of his memory and his curiosity rose like a steady tide. “You said something when you were injured that I cannot seem to get out of my mind. You asked me if I _remembered_ something.”

Hanzo expected McCree to shrug it off as the ramblings of a man delirious with poison and injury, but the cowboy’s eyes widened and his throat bobbed once. “I said that, huh?”

The archer frowned, “What am I supposed to remember? What have I forgotten?”

McCree took a deep breath, eyes shifting nervously, “Well—“

“Hey guys—!”

Both their heads whipped up and Lúcio barreled into the room, “I’ve got Winston on the comms and—“ he froze, looking between them, “Uh,” He said awkwardly, “Am I interrupting?”

McCree removed his hand from Hanzo and sighed heavily, “Lúcio, how’d you like to learn to serpentine? Where the hell is my gun?”

“I could not tell you,” Hanzo said, glaring at the musician, “But I do have my bow.”

Lúcio blanched and took an awkward step back, “Uh. I’ll tell him we’ll call back?” He squeaked.

“ _Lúcio!”_ Tracer’s screech came from somewhere beyond the doorway, “ _Tell me_ you did not _interrupt_ them?”

“Uh,” He said once more.

Tracer cried out as though she were in agony, “ _Augh, no! _You didn’t! _Lúcio!_ ”__

__“I’m _sorry_! How the hell was I supposed to know they were having an important discussion?”_ _

__“The door was closed! McCree could’ve been sleeping! Look at him, he looks like shit and needs it! Knock!”_ _

__“ _I_ could be sleeping,” 76 snarked from somewhere out in the main room, “You are the _noisiest_ bunch of operatives.”_ _

__“Thanks, Lena,” McCree grouched. “I’m sure you look like a damn field a’ daisies yerself, and Jack! Go back to your nap, Old Timer!”_ _

__“Ya do look like hell, Jesse,” She fired back._ _

__“Shut the fuck up, McCree,” Jack agreed._ _

__“Is Mr. McCree still feeling some ill effects?” The mechanical voice heralded the arrival of more interruptions, as Zenyatta stepped in from the yard, Genji behind him, peering in curiously._ _

__Almost everyone sighed. Hanzo shook his head, whatever moment was well and truly gone now._ _

__McCree flashed him a wry smile and mouthed, ‘later.’_ _

__Hanzo nodded once. To be continued._ _

__“Just feelin’ weak,” McCree said and the Omnic stepped inside the room, Genji leaning against the wall outside, but Hanzo didn’t imagine for an instant his focus was anywhere but with Zenyatta._ _

__Zenyatta made a considering sound and sat before him, legs folding, “I see.”_ _

__“Ah, not that I’m not grateful though. Heard ya saved my life. Thank you, truly. Zenyatta, was it? Really, thank you.”_ _

__The monk nodded, “I was glad I could help. You were in poor condition when you arrived. You said you are still feeling exhausted?”_ _

__“Yeah. Can’t even really stand up,” McCree snorted, “Prob’ly couldn’t even hold my gun straight, least not fer long.”_ _

__Zenyatta nodded, head tilting in consideration, “I suppose I should have thought of this as a possibility.”_ _

__“So I’m not gonna die, doc?” McCree said with a little grin and Hanzo elbowed him, “Ow.”_ _

__Zenyatta chuckled, “No, you are fine. I can sense no true missing vitality from you, though there is some exhaustion, yes.”_ _

__“So what happened?” Tracer asked, coming in to plop down next to McCree._ _

__“When I Transcend I become invulnerable and can offer healing to those around me, however you cannot make something from nothing,” Zenyatta explained. “While some of the energy can be pulled from the universe around me, most of it comes from myself and some from those I am healing themselves. I believe since I had already Transcended once I did not have the same amount of energy to offer and likely used more of your own energy to heal your wounds and clear your system. You are healthy, but all of your strength has been used up. I would imagine you will be well with rest, but I cannot say for certain. I apologize, Mr. McCree.”_ _

__“Hey, no complaints, Partner,” McCree smiled, “I’m alive, so I’d say it worked out pretty well.”_ _

__Zenyatta nodded, “Still, I am no doctor. I can only offer supposition based on previous experience, not surety. I have never Transcended twice in such a short span of time, so I do not know the effects.”_ _

__“Man, lots of healing and no doctors,” Lúcio laughed, flopping down next to Tracer, “How’d we even come to this?”_ _

__Zenyatta tapped his chin, “If you wish for a true human medical professional to assess to be sure, Genji and I are acquainted with a doctor.”_ _

__Genji snorted in the doorway, “If you can get a hold of her.”_ _

__“Since you are the remnants of Overwatch you are likely acquainted with Doctor Angela Ziegler,” Zenyatta said, “If you like, we can reach out to her so she can assess Mr. McCree.”_ _

__Tracer gasped, “Holy shit, you two been keepin’ in touch with Angela?” Behind her words there was the heavy step of Morrison’s boots, joining the conversation as the old faces of Overwatch came up._ _

__“I have had to reach out to her on some occasions. I can heal any of the wounds Genji collects when he fights, but considering how advanced his bio-cybernetics are, his basic maintenance was not something I knew how to deal with. She has been very helpful when he gets hurt and I have questions about repair.” He turned to look at the door, “Because he does not take care of himself.”_ _

__Genji huffed, “Master.”_ _

__“Is she doing well?” Reinhardt asked, voice booming from somewhere in the other room and his big face peered in through the small door._ _

__“I ‘aven’t seen Angela in ages,” Tracer said, “She’s in the Middle East right? Set up somewhere in Baghdad? Winston was tellin’ me that’s where her beacon came in when he sent out the recall.”_ _

__“That must have been some weeks ago,” Zenyatta said, “She’s currently up in Russia now. Siberia, helping with the crisis up there. I believe the peace in Baghdad was too quiet for her. We can reach out to her for information. It is still very early there, but likely she is awake.”_ _

__“Up to you, McCree,” Tracer said._ _

__“Trust yer word, Zenyatta,” McCree said with a nod but ran a hand through his hair, “Would be nice to see her again though.”_ _

__“Then I will go ahead and place a call through the private terminal.”_ _

__\--_ _

__Everyone sat around and waited as Zenyatta dialed out. All the old members of Overwatch waiting with interest and baited breath, a decade of memories behind their impatience. Hanzo watched it impassively, the name or this doctor meant nothing to him._ _

__Nothing beyond she might be able to offer some aid as yet not given to McCree._ _

__That was something for him to hope for._ _

__The line rang several times and then on the fifth ring the call was final picked up._ _

__"Hallo, Ärtzin Ziegler hier."_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I checked with someone who was learning German about the German at the end, but I couldn't get ahold of my actual German-speaking friend to ask. So if someone has a correction for it, please send it my way!
> 
> I figure the middle east has settled down a lot, considering Overwatch thought it was safe to lock up Anubis there, and other than that we hear very little about it in comparison to places we know were hit hard by the crisis and after, like Australia, England, and India. 
> 
> Now, I will go ahead and admit this, I am really not at all fond of Mercy. I don't think she's a good person but I also don't think she's a good character. I feel like Blizzard is so set on casting her as the actual angel that they're just ignoring a lot of shady stuff she's done and I'd probably like her a lot more if they actually wrote her as a morally gray character. 
> 
> That said, I hate when people strawman characters they dislike, so I will be doing my best with her, but she might likely be grayer than normally portrayed (I have no idea, I don't read much with her).
> 
> Also picturing her singing De Staat's 'Witch Doctor' helped for some reason. IUNNO.


	19. Touching Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well Partner, I am Jesse Fucking McCree, like you just said.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, that's right, didn't forget about this mess of a thing. I had wanted to get this done and out before new years but that didn't happen. and then I got sick and AGDQ happened. Whatever, it's here.
> 
> Fair warning, its not a great chapter, its like 90% dialogue, I'm not even kidding. 
> 
> Alternate titles for this chapter include 'Get them the fuck out of Hanamura', 'Balenae doesn't know how future phones will work', and 'Holy shit is that plot development on the horizon?'

“Good morning, I believe, Doctor Ziegler,” Zenyatta said, “I apologize for the early contact.”

_“Zenyatta,”_ There was recognition and a soft sigh, _“Please tell me he’s not broken again, I was locked in emergency surgery until late last night, I am not sure I can deal with that this early in the morning.”_

Genji made a grumpy _hmph_ sound and slouched against the wall.

Hanzo watched and listened with interest. Strange to think that this was the person who had both saved Genji Shimada and transformed him not only into a cyborg but simply into _Genji_.

“While I am pleased to say Genji is whole and in good health this is not a social call,” The Omnic said, apologetic.

There was a snort and a yawn over the line, _“It never is. What happened?”_

Tracer finally couldn’t hold it in anymore and scrambled over, “Angela! God, it’s so good to hear your voice! I missed you!”

There was a long pause and then a soft, wondering, _“Lena?”_

“Not just me!” She bubbled, “Genji ya know, but we’ve also got Reinhardt an’ Jesse an’ Jack—“

Hanzo frowned a bit, “Perhaps let her know the reason for the call,” He murmured, glancing at McCree’s slumped, exhausted form. 

_“So many?”_ She sounded surprised and a touch lost, _“…Jack is there?”_

“Hello, Angela,” 76 greeted the open call, voice quiet and rough with some lingering hesitation. 

_“Good to see you stopped playing dead,”_ She said and Tracer gawped. 

“You knew he wasn’t dead?”

_“And then some,”_ Dr. Ziegler agreed, _“It is good to hear from you all, but I can’t help but wonder why? I haven’t seen so many old Operatives in one place since Overwatch was working.”_

“Funny you should mention that,” Reinhardt hedged with a nervous chuckle.

_“Oh no, whatever you’re doing, no. Overwatch is gone for a reason.”_

“It was disbanded for a reason but that doesn’t mean it shouldn’t come back for a good reason too!” Tracer protested, frowning. Next to her Zenyatta made a soft curious hum.

_“I disagree, and I don’t appreciate you all contacting me and—“_

Hanzo lost his patience, “This is not about Overwatch!”

There was a beat of silence, _“Who was that?”_

Hanzo ignored the question, “We reached out to you because McCree sustained a serious injury—“

_“What—!”_

“I was able to heal him,” Zenyatta hurried to assure, “But he continues to be—“

_“Jesse Mc—Is he there? Jesse McCree!”_ The voice that came over the line was intimidating in its intensity. 

McCree gulped audibly and looked around for help in the room. When none came he cleared he throat and began, “Uh, ‘lo there, Angela—“

_“What are you doing getting hurt all the time? I swear if you’ve lost another limb—“_

“I haven’t—“

_“I’m sure whatever it was will give me a headache. Where are you?”_

“Hanamura currently,” Jack said.

_“Ah, that explains Genji and Zenyatta.”_

“Oh! But not for much longer!” Lúcio cut in abruptly, “Sorry that was why Winston was radioing in, we need to talk about extraction plans. He said he had something that’ll wake it way easier on us.”

_“So you are returning to Winston in Gibraltar? I remember seeing the recall go out,”_ Mercy said. _“Well I would be happy to offer my assessment for McCree over the phone,”_ She trailed off a moment, _“But I am fairly concerned he’d die before anything can be done. I will meet you in Gibraltar.”_

“I ain’t gonna die!” McCree tried to assert. 

_“That last time you said that you came back without an arm!”_

“Whoa, you’d just up and leave Siberia?” Tracer wondered.

_“My team can handle things here. What no one else can handle is you. But don’t mistake this, I’m not condoning or agreeing to whatever nonsense you have going with Overwatch.”_ She took a breath, _“But I won’t let you get hurt when I can stop it, won’t let you suffer when I can heal.”_

“That’s very generous of ya,” McCree said quietly. “Like to be back on my feet quick as I can.”

_“That’s what I’m worried about,”_ Dr. Ziegler grumbled, _“I will meet you in Gibraltar. Try not to die.”_

“You are just the most optimistic,” Jack grumbled, “But we’ll see you there.”

_“You will. Zenyatta, always a pleasure. More so when Genji isn’t a wreck.”_

“Hey!” The ninja sputtered.

“Of course,’ Zenyatta said, placid and amused. 

_“And the rest of you? Try to take care of yourselves.”_ And without waiting for polite goodbyes, she disconnected the call. 

“She is always a bit short of patience when we interrupt her while she is in a combat zone,” Zenyatta explained, “She will likely calm down once she leaves.”

“Dunno if I’d bet on that,” Jack shook his head, “Angela was always a little single-minded.”

“I cannot believe that we have had years of calls to her about my upkeep, but the moment Jesse fucking McCree gets hurt up she flies in from Siberia,” Genji shook his head, snorting.

Hanzo watched as a shit-eating-grin spread slowly over McCree’s face. How frustrating that it still made him distractingly handsome, “Well Partner, I am Jesse Fucking McCree, like you just said.”

“What you are is a major pain,” Jack grouched and turned to Lúcio. “You said Winston had called with plans for Evac?”

Lúcio nodded, “Sure did, but everyone was, uh, busy,” he flicked a nervous glance in Hanzo and McCree’s direction. “He did give me the line to dial back to Gibraltar immediately though, so we’re not stuck on the radio.”

“If you like, you may use the terminal here to make the call,” Zenyatta offered, gesture to where he’d hung up after the call to Dr. Ziegler. 

“Go on then, while we’re all here,” Jack directed and Lúcio went and started to input the information, waiting as it dialed out.

_“We’re sorry,”_ Athena’s voice came over the call, _“But the number you have dialed is no longer is service—“_

“Athena, it’s us,” 76 sighed, rolling his eyes. 

_“Ah, good to hear from you, Commander,”_ Athena said. _“Winston is currently busy at the moment. I will notify him though. Is there something I can help with while we wait?”_

“Of course he got distracted,” Jack sighed.

_“Something came up that required his immediate attention.”_

“Weird, he was so insistent a bit ago,” Lúcio frowned, “What was so important?”

_“The bird,”_ Athena said, inexplicably. 

Jack and Lúcio glanced at one another and the Brazilian shrugged helplessly. “Well if you could tell him to get back to us, whenever he’s done with… _whatever_ the issue was—“

_“Here he is,”_ Athena interrupted, _“Patching the line over to him.”_

There was a beat of silence before Winston’s voice came on, but it was small, as if he was talking from far away and was clearly shouting at someone else, _“—Just get it out of here! There’s delicate equipment in here!”_

_“You think there isn’t in the workshop?”_ Torbjörn’s voice followed, also distant. _“The damn thing has a mind of its own; I can’t do anything with it! They both do!”_

_“I have to take this call, just handle it, please?”_ Winston’s voice was growing louder as he got closer to whatever speaker Athena had patched him in on. Torbjörn said something else but the sound was too far away to discern.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Jack whispered, mostly to himself.

_“Athena could you—Oh! Ah, sorry about that,”_ Winston apologized. _“Kinda strange here today.”_

“What was all that about a bird?” Tracer asked.

_“Reinhardt!”_ Torbjörn’s voice suddenly clattered over the line, _“Is that big rocket-addled idiot there? Wilhelm!”_

“Ah! Torbjörn!” Reinhardt leaned forward to better hear, “Having some trouble there?”

_“That stupid piece of junk you and Symmetra brought back from Stuttgart is a disaster! What possessed you to haul that thing back here?”_

Reinhardt laughed, “What’s the matter, Torbjörn, I thought you were good with machines?”

There was an audible sputter as the engineer, _“I am good with machines! What you brought me was a monster!”_

“It seemed fine to me—“

_“It’s a nightmare—“_

“We don’t have time for this,” 76 growled, “Winston, what’s the extraction plan?”

_“Oh! Right, Torbjörn and I managed to fix up a little surprise for you all. It should make this extraction—and coming ones from whatever you’re going to get up to—much easier! There was an old Overwatch carrier jet moldering in the hangar. Between the two of us we’ve got it running like new! We’ll figure out a safe place to set it down and send you the coordinates.”_

“I forgot there was a carrier left in there,” Jack said, thoughtful. “Good initiative.”

_“Thanks!”_ Winston preened, _“It was my idea.”_

Torbjörn muttered something that sounded unflattering in Swedish. 

_“We also made some headway with the remains of that concussive mine that incapacitated Hanzo in Cairo,”_ Winston said.

Hanzo frowned, “I hadn’t known you kept that.”

_“We were hoping for any kind of lead about what Talon could be doing,”_ The Scientist explained, _“Since you were technically responsible to Helix and to Fareeha the pieces left were the only thing we were able to take out from under their nose. There wasn’t much left of it, but there was enough that I might’ve been able to get a potential lead. It should put us one step closer, at any rate.”_

Jack snorted, “Finally. It’s about time. It’s been weeks.”

_“Hey!”_ Winston protested, offended, _“Well with an attitude like that I’m not going to send you all the drop ship. I’ll put you all on a hypertrain.”_

Hanzo’s eyes widened and he pushed forward and back into the conversation, “Please, he’s sorry. Please no hypertrains.”

McCree laughed weakly, slumping over, Hanzo shifting back in time to let the cowboy collide with his bare shoulder instead of falling over. “They ain’t that bad, Partner.”

“You would go flying off,” Hanzo pointed out, trying for exasperated but only finding fond.

“Naw, you’d keep hold a’ me,” McCree said with complete confidence.

Hanzo snorted, smiling faintly at the cowboy.

_“Uh?”_ Winston’s voice broke in and Hanzo became aware that every eye in the room was on them. 

“What are you looking at?” He snapped a bit shortly and McCree wheezed in pathetic laughter some more. 

“Not my fault this time!” Lúcio insisted. 

_“Uh, right, well we’ll have that carrier ready for you. Make sure Overwatch gets home safe and sound.”_

“Thank you, Winston, it’s much appreciated,” McCree told him through his exhaustion.

Genji sighed faintly, shuffling, shoulders stiff, the green line of his visor fixed on the floor. Zenyatta watched him a moment, “Do you wish to go with them, my Student?” He asked finally.

“What?” Genji seemed surprised by the question, “No, don’t be ridiculous.”

“You do,” Zenyatta confirmed, seeing right through him. 

Genji sighed, exasperated, “It does not matter, Master.”

“Ooh, it would be so cool to have you back on base, Genji!” Tracer bubbled, bouncing with restrained energy.

“It does not matter, because I am not going,” He said, petulant.

“But you wish to,” Zenyatta pressed again.

“Whether or not I would want to rejoin the new Overwatch does not matter,” Genji said shortly, voice firm. “I will not leave my Master, and that is the end of it.”

Zenyatta sighed, “Genji, do not be silly. You want this.”

“Master—“

“And I am coming with you, of course.” He said, ignoring the cyborg’s attempted protest.

Genji stilled, “You—really, Master?”

“Of course,” Zenyatta replied, radiating amusement. “I have always wanted to know more about your life with Overwatch. If this is what you want, I will support you wholeheartedly.”

“Yes!” Tracer pumped her fist. “You both should come!”

Genji was only watching Zenyatta, “I… thank you,” He said, voice low and bowed to the Omnic, who reached out to pat his knee gently.

“As if I would separate from you now.” 

Hanzo watched them, torn about it, but unsurprised. Genji had set him on his current path, after all. He supposed it only made sense that eventually he set himself along the same.

“Guess there’ll be two extra hitching a ride with us.” Jack told Winston, “And you’re also going to have a visitor. Angela will be returning to Gibraltar to meet us.”

_“Wow, Dr. Ziegler’s going to be back on base? Amazing, with so many of the old faces and new faces, this might actually start to feel like a real Overwatch installation again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got tired of people not picking up some of the hints I had been laying down. Think I layered it a little thick there. Oh well. Now we have a few things to look forward to.


	20. Pre-Flight Check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you… afraid of flying?” Hanzo asked slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not worth the wait. It is boring as fucking fuck. I am sorry. But I am so, so glad this segment of the story is over. Hanamura got away from me, but now we can all move on. 
> 
> Kinda excited for where we're going.

They left Hanamura a day and a half later in the cover of night. Zenyatta made sure the temple was well in hand before they moved off in teams to the rendezvous location Winston sent them. They split into two groups, Zenyatta accompanying Hanzo and Reinhardt—who was carrying McCree—and Morrison, Tracer, Genji, and Lúcio going separately. The latter group was far more mobile, and intended to make for the carrier ship Winston said would be waiting and make sure the slower team’s route was clear. 

McCree had shown some improvement, he was able to sit up for longer periods and even managed to stand on his own for a scant moment—what he had referred to in his own fashion as ‘a hot second of hell’—but Hanzo was grateful they were returning to take him to a doctor even so. At this current pace who knew how long it might take him to recover. 

The coordinates Winston had given them was some distance outside Hanamura, outside of prying eyes and potential discovery. The trip was long and tense, made in the dark for cover and even Reinhardt was largely silent. His normal boisterous attitude reduced to a soundless absence. He had donned his Crusader for transportation purposes, and carried McCree gently with one large arm, mindful of all the awkward edges his armor had. 

No one spoke but for the occasional communication and all-clear over the comms. 

Winston had sent the carrier over remotely to them on autopilot and set it down on the long abandoned stretch of the old Hanamuran airport, a small facility that had mostly had housed private planes and light air craft. Empty now, closed since the opening of the Hanamuran International Airport so close, it made an ideal launch point for the reformed Overwatch. 

Hanzo felt only intense relief as his slower team finally made it onto the old concourse to see the big plane waiting for them, hatch open, lit from within.

“Bout time,” McCree said where he was held limply, “I did fuck all but I’m exhausted.”

“We’ll get you in so you can rest before we take off,” Reinhardt assured and picked up his pace, long legs eating up the ground now that the end was in sight. 

Zenyatta tossed another golden orb of energy to McCree as they pulled away. The Omnic had kept his healing energies on the American when he could and they weren’t at risk of being caught, now able to do it freely. He floated along now—easier to keep up, he’d said, than if he were walking—and was even able to keep steady pace to a moderate jog. 

Hanzo made sure Reinhardt, McCree, and Zenyatta had made it through the hatch before following in himself, the last inside. It began closing behind him with a hiss as the hydraulics moved, and Morrison nodded to him from where he’d keyed it closed. The archer returned the gesture and looked around.

The interior was pristine and white, a few consoles lit Overwatch-orange, and strap-down seating for six. Reinhardt was setting McCree carefully on a gurney mounted to the wall and buckled him in carefully. Tracer was up at the helm, chattering softly to a voice over a radio—likely Winston—and Lúcio was speaking animatedly to Genji about something, but the cyborg was clearly distracted by the arrival of the Omnic. 

Lúcio glanced over and saw where his visor was pointing and grinned, elbowing Genji and making a clear gesture of ‘go on.’ 

Genji immediately scrambled over to Zenyatta, “You made it safely?”

The monk chuckled, “Without issue, as I am sure you can see. I did not mean for my arrival to disrupt your conversation.”

“I was worried,” Genji murmured, “You are still certain you are fine with all of this?”

Zenyatta made an exasperated sound, “Clearly you think me flighty if you believe I would so easily change my mind.”

“ _Master,_ ” Genji huffed faintly. “You know what I mean.”

Zenyatta touched his arm gently, chuckling, “I do. So these are the carrier ships that dispatched operatives? Did you ever ride in one before?”

“On occasion,” Genji agreed, practically leaning into the Omnic’s touch. Hanzo rolled his eyes and turned his attention elsewhere, catching a last ‘Will you show me?’ from Zenyatta. 

“We’ll be leaving soon?” He asked Morrison quietly, “We have not been accost for now, but it is not wise to dally here.”

76 nodded his agreement, “Lena and Winston are going through preflight checks. I can’t imagine we’ll be on the ground for much longer.”

He raised an eyebrow, “She flies?”

He snorted, “Yeah, she was a hell of a pilot back before she got her time stream all messed up. It was actually how she joined Overwatch initially—as a pilot. Probably one of her darkest days was learning she wasn’t going to fly again. It was probably the only reason she agreed to become an operative and put her accelerator to use as a tool at her disposal instead of just as a tether to the present.”

Hanzo watched the brown bob of her springy hair where she was up in the cockpit, feeling a new sense of respect for the bubbly girl. 

“She was hoping the whole way here she might have a chance to fly it. I’m an asshole, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell her no.”

“Fair enough,” Hanzo agreed, “As long as she remembers how.”

“I heard that!” Tracer called from up the stairs to the cockpit, and she turned a broadly grinning face to the two of them, “Gonna make you eat those words, Hanzo!”

He smiled faintly and went up to join her, Morrison following, “I certainly hope so.” He eyed the expansive nest of controls and consoles that lined the ship’s cockpit. “You can fly this by yourself?”

She shrugged a bit, “Used to be a team a’ three would fly together back in Overwatch’s hayday. Only me here now, but with Winston an’ Athena in the system it should be just about the same.”

_“We’ll be ready for takeoff soon,”_ The Scientist’s voice came in over the console. _“Really the biggest issue will be flying you literally under the radar. These planes aren’t exactly supposed to be off the ground, after all.”_

“Means we won’t get a straight shot back to Gibraltar,” Tracer shrugged.

_“But we’ll get you back as fast as we can,”_ Winston finished. 

Hanzo nodded gravely, “I hope so. This is not an evacuation without casualties, after all.”

Tracer bumped his arm lightly with her fist, smiling a big encouraging smile, “We’ll make sure he gets back safe and sound, don’chu worry. In fact, why don’cha go see how he’s doing? We’ll finish up and get this thing off the ground. I’ll make an announcement when we need ya in your seat for takeoff.”

He nodded, heading back down to where McCree was sitting, buckled down to the gurney in preparation for takeoff and turbulence. His serape had been laid across his chest, hat atop it, eyes closed. Were it not for the faint nervous tick of his fingers playing with the sheet over the cushion he could’ve been asleep. 

Hanzo watched him a moment, drew a steady breath, and spoke, “Don’t like flying?”

McCree jumped a bit, eyes blinking open to find him, “Christ, don’t sneak up like that. Gonna give me a heart attack.”

The archer chuckled, “My apologies, I am sorry.”

“Lyin’ doesn’t suit you,” McCree snarked back, a small wry twist to his mouth. 

“As long as you won’t actually have a heart attack,” Hanzo knelt by the gurney with nowhere else to sit and no need to be strapped in just yet. 

McCree blew a long breath, cheeks puffing out, “Naw, don’t think any danger a’ that. Thank fuck.”

Hanzo eyed him, unsatisfied, “Something has you unsettled though.”

“It’s cause ya need a bell,” The marksman quipped but Hanzo’s eyes narrowed further, speculating and studying him.

“Are you… afraid of flying?” he asked slowly. 

McCree groaned, huffing a heavy sigh, “ _No_. Well…” 

Hanzo gave him a look.

“Hey, I ain’t afraid a’ flyin’.” He chewed his lip, “Take-off an’ landin’ though… none too fond a’ them.”

Hanzo blinked a bit, eyes widening, realization settling in his mind, “ _That_ is why you favor those infernal hypertrains!”

McCree groaned, “Yeah, yeah. M’fine when I get in the air an’ it’s relatively quiet an’ still, but goin’ up an’ comin’ down are the worst damn sensation. Feelin’ the plane come to life around ya, the shakin’ an’ the noise as it takes off, gettin’ in my head—feels like I’m ridin’ a damn beast, not that I’m safe inside some advanced machine. Makes me crazy.”

Hanzo watched him, a smile spreading slowly across his face, “That’s why you prefer Hypertrains,” He said again, reveling in this new knowledge.

McCree rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“I am not laughing,” the archer pointed out, a few white teeth showing through his smile. 

“Bout as close as I’ve seen ya’ come. Don’t think I’ve seen ya really laugh since I met ya.”

“I have not had much reason to laugh,” Hanzo admitted softly, “Not in a long time.” He mock-scowled at McCree and attempted to add a bit of levity to his too-open words—“You give me even less of a reason to, driving me out of my mind,”—and missed his mark entirely.

But McCree chuckled softly, though the quip didn’t deserve it, “I get that a lot. Suppose it must be true. You certainly put up with me a lot longer than I expected ya to.”

The comment was offhand and held no deeper meaning, but it sparked a bit of remembrance in Hanzo, at least in as far as that there was something he’d forgotten. “We have been acquainted for many years, technically.”

McCree nodded, his tired eyes flicking over Hanzo’s face, “Ah shit. You’ll be wanting an answer then.”

It wasn’t a question, and in perfect honesty the looming conversation they needed to have wasn’t what Hanzo had meant, but his desire to find out was strong. He straightened, wanting it, wanting to _know_ , to finally set this lingering feeling of loose ends and the perpetual nagging knowledge that he’d _forgotten_ something to rest, but—

He looked at McCree, really _looked_ at him. The man was still weak, he was clearly nervous for the flight, his fingers continuing to twitch and tick before gripping the fabric of his serape in an effort to still them. He still looked pale and tired, couldn’t even be strapped into a proper seat. 

He took a slow breath and shook his head, reaching out to lay a hand on McCree’s arm, “It can wait, Cowboy.”

McCree blinked, clearly surprised and confused, “Ya sure? I know I been puttin’ it off—“

“Let us get you back to Gibraltar, to see the doctor. We can worry about the rest when you’re well again. We have time.” He swallowed a bit and murmured, “I am not going anywhere.”

The American stared at Hanzo’s hand against his arm and nodded slowly, and said, voice rough, “Mighty kind a’ ya. I won’t leave ya hangin’ promise. When we’re back in Gibraltar, I swear I’ll tell ya. We can talk till we’re both sick of it.”

Hanzo nodded and squeezes his arm again, glancing up toward the cockpit when Tracer’s shout filtered back, telling everyone to strap in for take-off. “Relax,” Hanzo advised, “You trust your team, and they’ll keep you safe.”

McCree nodded, taking a deep breath, “I know. I do. Ah, hell.”

Hanzo smiled and strapped into the seat near the American’s head, leaving on hand on his shoulder as the carrier churned to life, the engines beginning to roar as it closed in on takeoff. McCree gripped his hand tightly like a lifeline, eyes closed, breathing even in a forced sort of way.

It wasn’t until that point that something occurred to Hanzo, a niggling thing that bothered him.

It had been a some time since McCree had called him ‘Darlin’. 

His eyes flickered back to the mop of messy brown hair and wondered, uncertainty settling into his skin. He had so many questions, and where he stood now was not the least of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so fucking happy they're out of Hanamura I can't even tell you. You have no idea. 
> 
> I apologize for the slowed updates. I have been desperately trying to finish the next installment in the Color Palette AU for the twelve people who give a fuck about that, but I've also started working more on my own personal projects. Which you don't care about, but I haven't done any work on them since like... Last June, when I started writing Overwatch fic. Just trying to find a bit of a balance is all. I'm not going to stop writing this.
> 
> Also this is now over 50k words. *sobs*


	21. Doctor's Orders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Partner, _run_ ,” McCree advised from the bed, not trying to be subtle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could offer a real excuse why this is so late, but the honest truth is that I bought I PS4 and have disappeared into Horizon Zero Dawn. 
> 
> To make up for it this chapter is almost twice as long as usual. 
> 
> There's a lot jammed in here, maybe too much, but so help me I am not making the mistake of Hanamura again and dropping us all into chapter purgatory.

At last they arrived back in Gibraltar. 

Tracer blinked off almost as soon as the door was opening. She’d been a fantastic pilot, and Hanzo had told her so, but after so many hours trapped in a small box she’d been ready to get up and really move. Lúcio had walked off yawning, carrying his leg braces and skates, intent on the armory to do some minor tuning. Genji and Zenyatta disembarked but the cyborg was quickly distracted by the Omnic asking him quiet questions about the base.

Morrison had fallen asleep on the plane near the end and slept through landing and touchdown. No one had the heart to wake him. 

As for Hanzo, touching back down in Gibraltar was a relief that he was not sure he could express in words. The exhaustion of the past few days had settled hard into his bones and chest and while he’d come out of worse situations in rougher shape there was still that knee jerk reaction that told him to go to ground and not show his face for awhile. Rest, recover, try again. There was no true redemption in death. 

But this was the first time he ever felt like he was truly returning to a safe haven, a sanctuary of sorts. Hopefully whatever next step Winston had lined up for them could wait at least a few days before they were thrown to the wolves again.

Hanzo considered again the idea of leaving Overwatch, though not with serious intent, more in the context that it occurred to him that he _hadn’t_ been thinking about it. There was no lingering plan b murmuring that he could always get out if things went wrong. 

He was here to stay. His loyalty had been tested and earned. 

He supposed some of that was due to the influence of one ridiculous American cowboy. 

Reinhart had carried the entire gurney off the carrier when it landed back at the old Overwatch base, McCree out like a light and no one wished to wake him. “I will take him to the infirmary, friend,” He assured Hanzo as he carried the whole thing with one hand. “I will make sure he arrives safely. Perhaps you could do me a favor though?”

The German man had sounded so hopeful that Hanzo found himself nodding cautiously. Reinhardt had never asked him for anything. “Very well. What is it you need?”

“Ah, the crusader armor is still in the carrier,” He looked sheepish, “Torbjörn will likely be out any minute. I do not wish to be here when he does. Tell him it’s in there, ja?”

Hanzo snorted, a wry smile peeking at the corner of his mouth, “I suppose I can do that. I suppose I shall also tell him you have no idea what happened if it’s broken?”

“None at all,” Reinhardt’s huge grin was infectious and his one good eye twinkled with mischief. “I will owe you one, friend.”

Hanzo shooed him off, wanting him to get McCree to the infirmary before he woke. Hopefully the doctor had arrived as she’d promised. 

Seconds after Reinhardt had disappeared into the base, Torbjörn trundled out of the workshop side of the base, a grim look to his face, no doubt looking for Reinhardt, but he stopped short as he spotted Genji and his expression lightened, “Ah, Genji! Is that you, lad? I had heard you were going to—“ His words trailed to nothing as he spotted the Omnic he stood with.

Zenyatta turned and perked up when he saw him and Hanzo could almost see the robot’s charismatic personality come to the fore. “Greetings,” he said pleasant and happy.

Behind him Genji turned, making a choked off sound, desperately trying to hold something in. “Hello, Torbjörn.”

“Oh no,” Torbjörn said faintly, staring at Zenyatta in abject horror, “Not another one. I cannot _deal_ with all these damn—I mean. Ah, hello there. Good to, ah, have ya on base. Yer with Genji then?”

Zenyatta seemed amused and bowed his head, “Indeed I am. I am Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

“Well isn’t that nice,” Torbjörn said, awkward and then looked at Hanzo desperately, “Where the hell is Wilhelm?”

Hanzo shrugged, “He took McCree to the infirmary after the latter sustained injuries from our mission. He left the crusader in the carrier for you to attend to.”

“That big, miserable—“ Torbjörn growled and stalked onto the carrier in search of Reinhardt’s armor. 

“That’s Torbjörn Lindholm,” Genji said, clearly trying to reign in his laughter. “He’ll warm up to you eventually, Master.”

“Oh I am certain of it,” Zenyatta said amused as well, taking no offense, and Hanzo would not have been able to say if the pleasant statement was a threat or sarcasm. His brother’s robot was deceptively sly. 

“What the—“ Torbjörn’s voice suddenly interrupted from within the carrier, “This is— _Wilhelm!_ ”

“Perhaps we should take that as our cue to move on,” Genji said and the two headed inside the base before the Swedish engineer could catch a potential victim. 

Hanzo knew he should be doing any number of things—following Reinhardt’s path to the infirmary, heading to the armory to make some minor repairs to his bow or boots, finding his room to get some real sleep—but he found himself following silently behind Genji and Zenyatta as they moved through the halls. 

Sleep, he decided idly, he should probably sleep, even as his mind turned with slow-burning worry for the stupid cowboy that was in the clinic. He should, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to until his concern was assuaged. 

So consumed with his thoughts he didn’t notice something wrong until he bumped full into Zenyatta. The Omnic didn’t budge, just tilted his head back to look at him from where he’d come to a full stop in the middle of the hallway. 

“Forgive me,” Hanzo murmured, “I was not watching where I was going.”

“No harm has been done,” Zenyatta said in his quiet, even way. 

“Is something the matter then?” he asked before he could think better of it, “Just stopping—“

Zenyatta held up a hand, quieting his questions and gestured ahead to where Genji was moving slowly forward down the hall, head turning slowly and peering down rooms and corridors, clearly seeing something from years ago. “There is much of his past to deal with of late,” the monk murmured, “I do not believe Gibraltar was the primary base he was stationed at but I know he did spend a good deal of time here. So now he looks on, lost in memories.”

Hanzo watched as Genji meandered down, remembering. “I did not think Overwatch was disbanded for more than five or so years.”

“Genji left some years before its fall,” Zenyatta said and then turned and watched Hanzo a moment, “Go to him.”

Hanzo blinked, startled, “Beg pardon?”

“Go to him,” Zenyatta urged gently, “His brother’s support would be invaluable to him, as would it be to you.”

Hanzo’s throat bobbed, watching the pale specter his brother had become drift further down the halls. “I—“ he struggled, “I cannot.” He shook his head, “Not now. It is not my place.”

“You are family,” Zenyatta encouraged again, “One that is healing. It is always your place.”

“No,” he shook his head, denying. “I cannot. I—I am sorry, but I cannot do this.” He saw Zenyatta shift, making to argue and cut him off before he could. “You go to him.” He tried for a small smile, “It is your place now, more than it is mine.” The Omnic hesitated, turning to look back at the man he’d taken under his wing. Hanzo pushed again, “You go. I know you wish to.”

Zenyatta finally nodded, “Very well. But you cannot run from this forever.”

What did an Omnic know anyway, Hanzo thought inanely with a buzzing in his skull that felt a little like panic. He’d been running for years and years. He could run awhile more. He watched just long enough to see Zenyatta walk up to the cyborg and lay a hand on his shoulder and Genji turn towards his teacher and bow his head.

Then Hanzo turned and retreated down an adjacent hallway. Once he was _away_ he stopped and took a slow breath, his tired mind clamoring for sleep. He looked up, trying to gauge where he was and spotted a small illuminated sign indicating that the infirmary and clinic were down the hall. He groaned softly and took it as a signal to follow where it led. 

\--

When Hanzo stepped inside Gibraltar’s medical facilities he was pleased to see that Winston had kept it up to date and maintained, else he’d done a good scramble job before they got back. The hospital was more white than the gray of the rest of the base, with hints of the Overwatch-standard charcoal-and-orange. Florescent lighting was over-bright and jarring, but Hanzo was still just glad this part of the base had power. 

He heard Reinhardt before he saw anyone, the German’s big, booming voice carrying through and as he stepped around the corner he heard a soft female voice respond. He saw the huge warrior first—obviously, he was hard not to see—but before him was a slim Caucasian woman with platinum blonde hair in a tight tail, one full bang at her right temple, lab coat falling around her shoulders. 

This must be the doctor that had flown in from her work in Russia—Dr. Ziegler—who had nurtured breakthrough medicine under Overwatch’s mantle. Hopefully she’d be able to heal one stupid cowboy. Speaking of—

He spotted McCree on one of the cots, less sitting up and more propped upright. The moment he spotted Hanzo and their eyes met the cowboy’s widened. Hanzo raised his hand in greeting but McCree gestured frantically, a shooing motion that Hanzo couldn’t mistake—get out of here—and he mouthed ‘Run!’

Hanzo paused, uncertain, faltering just inside the door. 

“Jesse McCree, so help me if I turn around and you’re exerting yourself then we’re going to have some words,” A mild female voice startled both of them, and Hanzo recognized it from the call they’d placed back in Hanamura.

McCree jumped a bit and looked guilty, “No, Angela. Ain’t doin’ nothin’.”

“A double negative, hmm? You can’t fool me.” Dr. Ziegler turned, her eyes kind but sharp and perceptive, finding McCree first, her patient, but half a second later flicking to Hanzo, once up and down, assessing. “I don’t believe we’ve met, I’m Dr. Angela Ziegler.”

Hanzo nodded slowly, “Hanzo.”

Her head tilted, eyes narrowing faintly though her smile didn’t fade. “Shimada.” It wasn’t a question. “Genji’s elder brother.”

He risked a glance at McCree who was as frozen as he had been when Hanzo stepped in. “That is correct.”

She watched him for another endless moment before her expression gentled, “Good to meet you then.”

Hanzo frowned faintly, feeling somehow like this was going to come back around later, not quite a _trap_ but he didn’t imagine for a moment that this was all the woman who had been on the team to recreate Genji had to say to him. His brother had certainly earned the loyalty of this group while he’d served with them. He steered the subject gently away and to what he’d come to find out. “How is McCree doing?”

“Like hell,” the cowboy said.

“He’s fine,” Dr. Ziegler said, ignoring him. “Without boring you with medical jargon, he was weakened and while his system was flushed of whatever contaminant affected him, it didn’t leave a lot for his body to work with. Nothing we can’t fix. _If_ he follows Doctor’s orders.” A sidelong glance at McCree, “He was never terribly good at that part of the healing process. But give me a few days and I’m going to get him back on his feet. Like it or not.”

“Haven’t died yet, doc,” McCree reminded. 

“Not for lack of trying, it feels like,” She muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” She gave McCree a sunny smile. “Now stop moving around.”

Reinhardt chuckled and said to Hanzo, “Angela is something of a force to be reckoned with.”

“Well I had to be,” She said, huffing a bit. “You all kept me on my toes. And don’t get cheeky with me, Reinhardt.”

“Me?” The huge man said, all faux innocence, “Never!”

“I know you’re just here hiding from Torbjörn,” She said. “Which I doubt will work well for you. You know he’ll be in here soon.”

“They were always really good friends,” McCree stage-whispered to Hanzo. 

“Jesse, you are not my favorite person right now,” She reminded him. 

“Because it was always Tor—“

_“Jesse McCree.”_

“Shuttin’ up.”

She crossed her arms, “Genji came back as well, didn’t he? That’s someone else I want to have a few words with.”

“What about me?” Genji asked as he stepped into the infirmary, Zenyatta behind him.

“Partner, _run_ ,” McCree advised from the bed, not trying to be subtle. 

“Ah, Genji,” She greeted, her eyes narrowing in that quietly intense way of hers, “The other man I wanted to see.”

Genji paused, sensing danger, “Ah, hello, Angela, it has been a long—“

“Stop talking,” She said, gesturing with one hand. “Sit on the other bed.”

“Uh,” Genji glanced back at Zenyatta and then over at McCree, “I do not think I need an assessment—“

“Genji Shimada as many times as you have called me over almost a decade because you picked some fight that left you damaged, so help me you will sit down and stop talking while I make sure you aren’t _broken_.”

Genji snapped to attention like a yanked string and did as asked immediately, with a soft, “Yes, Dr. Ziegler.”

“Excellent,” She said, pleased, going over to take a look at his cybernetics. “I love it when they listen.”

“You will have to teach me how you make him behave,” Zenyatta said, tone teasing, “He never takes care of himself like I wish he would. He does not listen to me.”

“ _Master_ ,” Genji huffed quietly, “I always listen to you.”

“That’s because he isn’t scared of you,” She did something to make the canisters on Genji’s shoulders release their pressure with a hiss. She smiled and bowed her head a bit, “And it is good to finally meet you face-to-face, Zenyatta. Later I would very much like to have a discussion with you about your ability to heal. I am terribly curious.”

He bowed his head back, “You as well, Doctor, and of course. I am at your disposal.”

“So what _have_ you been up to, doc? You were too busy yellin’ at me to really say where ya’d been.” McCree asked as he made faces at Genji who flashed him a rude gesture and had one of his stabilizing antennae boxed by the doctor in return. 

“Spent some time in disaster zones, there are always people in need of medical aid in the world these days,” She said sadly. “In theory I was supposed to be helping in cutting edge medical research in the Middle East, but it’s so _quiet_ there and I wasn’t helping anyone. Not really. When I went to the lab one day—Genji stop moving or so help me—and I realized I had seen more patients as statistics on paper for R &D instead of actually helping those in need of care… Well my team up and left the next day.”

“No way ya just up an’ quit. That doesn’t sound like the doc that whipped our asses into shape.”

Dr. Ziegler smiled at McCree faintly, and Hanzo noticed for the first time slight bruising beneath her eyes. Aging gracefully but noticeably worn and tired. “Hardly. A day rarely goes by without the lab calling me with some question or other or a request for consultation and analysis. But these days whatever I give to them I do from the field.”

McCree laughed, “Sounds about perfect for ya, best a’ both worlds.”

“Mm,” She made a soft sound of consideration. “It can be. I’d like to think I’ve done a lot of good, but it is also taxing and tiring. There is… a lot of conflict out there.”

“At least it’s warm here,” Reinhardt said, happy. “I would hate Siberia.”

She laughed, “It is nicer here, though I have seen quite a few amazing things. For instance, I met a woman who reminded me a great deal of you in Russia, Reinhardt.”

“Oh?” he asked, curious, “Of me?”

Hanzo eyed Reinhardt up and down. He couldn’t imagine it was something the giant heard often.

“Mhm, fighting in the Second Crisis—Genji sit _still_ , you _child_ —I saw this woman rip a particle cannon right from one of the siege tanks to hold the line during a push. It was really remarkable. She could probably give you a run for your money, Reinhardt.”

“Pfah!” Reinhardt dismissed, “I’ll believe that when I see it! Though it would be pretty amazing to see…” His mustache tilted as he frowned in thought, “I wonder if I could rip off a cannon. I’ll have to ask Torbjörn when he isn’t mad at me.”

“I don’t think that was the moral you were supposed to take from—Genji! Stop fidgeting!”

“I do not need a check-up,” Genji muttered again, and Hanzo smiled faintly, remembering how he’d hated the doctor his family had on-call as a child. 

“You’re a terrible patient,” Dr. Ziegler said.

McCree laughed from his cot, “Yer in hot water now, Partner.”

“You are no better,” She snapped at him. “The both of you, charging into trouble and danger with no thought to your own well-being or the working you’re making for the one that has to patch you up. Foolish boys.”

“Now, that ain’t fair, I—“

“I still don’t want to hear it, Jesse.”

“Now who’s in hot water—“ Genji needled back. 

“Both of you, _quiet_ ,” She snapped at them. 

“Yes, Dr. Ziegler,” They both said in unison, dutiful.

“Good,” She nodded once, “I am very tired of your poor self-preservation instincts. And you’re not going to do that again if you can help it, are you?”

McCree and Genji glanced at each other, silent.

_“Are you?”_ She demanded.

“No, Dr. Ziegler,” They chorused again. 

“Whippin’ them into submission, are ya, Angela?” 

Hanzo looked over to see Torbjörn step into the room, his one eye crinkled in a smile, expression gentled for probably the first time he’d ever seen. 

Dr. Ziegler’s face brightened up like a light, “Torbjörn! The one person here that I _do_ like.”

“Figured I’d come down and try and save you from these fools. _And_ get a hold of Wilhelm.” The Swedish man shot an irritated, pointed look to where Reinhardt had been trying to inch unobtrusively from the room with little success. 

“Ah,” Reinhardt began, awkwardly, “About the Crusader…”

Torbjörn growled, “Forget the damn armor. That’s not the stupid thing I wanted to yell at you about. What’s really grindin’ my gears is the damn _robot_.”

Genji made a low, aggressive sound, “If you _dare—_ “

The engineer scoffed, “Not _your_ damn robot, _his_ damn robot,” He gestured offhandedly to Reinhardt.

There was a beat of silence. 

“What… robot?”

Torbjörn made an exasperated sound, “That big hammer-headed idiot brought back a hunk-a-junk Omnic from the trip he and Satya took to Europe, following up on some gang activity way back before you all headed off to Cairo. We’ve been babysitting the damn thing ever since.” He turned and jabbed a finger at Reinhardt, “That thing is a _monster_. Why the devil did ya’ haul it back here?”

Reinhardt shrugged, smiling a bit, “It seemed nice. I liked the little thing. It sang!”

“I don’t care what it _did, Reinhardt_. I care that you made it my problem!”

_“Attention Overwatch operatives!”_ Winston’s voice came in over the intercom, interrupting. _“Please report to the mission table for debriefing and meeting.”_

“Looks like duty calls,” Dr. Ziegler said with a smile. “All of you get out of my infirmary.”

Genji was out the door almost immediately, nodes on his shoulder settling back into place. Zenyatta chuckled and turned to her, “Thank you for looking him over. I imagine he will return and catch up when the danger of being doctored has passed.”

She chuckled and made a shooing gesture, “I’m sure he will. I am glad we finally get to meet, Zenyatta. Don’t forget, I want to talk to you later. Now go on, you better catch him.”

The Omnic bowed his head a touch and followed out the door.

Hanzo hesitated, looking at McCree, “You will be fine here?”

The cowboy gave him a tired thumbs up with his mechanical hand. “I’ll be fine. You can catch me up later. Sound good?”

It did, because it gave him an excuse to return afterward. 

“I can carry McCree in—“

“You leave him right there, Reinhardt,” the doctor threatened. 

Reinhardt held up his hands innocently and said, “Sorry friends, I tried.”

McCree chuckled, “Thanks, Reinhardt.” To Hanzo he said, “Go on then. I’ll be right where ya left me like a really frustrated stone.”

Hanzo smiled faintly at the joke and nodded, glad he was improving. He reached out, knocking his fist gently against McCree’s shoulder. “I am going to count on that. Don’t roll away.”

He made himself walk out to the sound of the cowboy’s wheezing laughter.

\--

Hanzo and Reinhardt walked in to what seemed at first like more a disorganized circus of agents than an organized debriefing. 

Morrison stood near the mission table speaking to Winston, the former-commander’s hair askew and mussed in a way that spoke volumes to the fact he’d only just woken up. Genji and Zenyatta were saying something to Torbjörn while a half-asleep Lúcio gawked at something just past them. Tracer was nearby, not involved in the conversation but was vibrating and near-bouncing nearby, watching whatever Lúcio was. 

With so many bodies and the hum of conversation, the base seemed busy, occupied, and inhabited. For a moment Hanzo could see a flicker of what Overwatch must have been at its height. Flush with power and success and victory, ranks full.

Tracer suddenly blinked and appeared in front of them, “Listen, I want to know how Jesse’s doing and see Angela—“

“They are both doing well,” Reinhardt said, happy.

“Good!” She grinned widely, “I will make it down there as soon as we’re out of here, but look, you have to see this, Hanzo. And Reinhardt! How could you not _tell me?_ ”

Reinhardt chuckled, “Sorry, Lena. I wanted to see what Torbjörn would do with the little thing first!”

“The answer is nothing, Wilhelm!” Torbjörn shouted from over by the others. “Damn thing has a mind of its own and don’t you get me started on the bird!”

“Come on, Torbjörn, it is pretty hilarious,” Lúcio said.

“What is all the fuss—“ Hanzo began but didn’t get to finish, as he caught sight of the thing that was sitting and staring at a display monitor, its head bobbing along to a the soft sound of music playing from the speakers.

Suddenly all the fuss about ‘the robot’ made some sense.

Hanzo had never actually seen a Bastion unit before with his own two eyes. It was clearly time-worn, and old, but the strangest thing about it was that the simple Omnic unit was _functional_. He had heard, likely the same thing as the rest of the world, with the end of the Omnic crisis came the end of the Bastion Units. They were gone.

Yet here one was, watching some sort of musical on a monitor. 

And yes, there was also a bird. A sunset jay that was currently preening itself perched atop the bastion’s bobbing head, unbothered. 

“I if I have to hear Rex Harrison sing ‘Talk to the Animals’ one more time I am literally going to pour molten steel on something,” Torbjörn muttered.

“Yes, the robot is a surprise,” Morrison grumbled, “And we will address that in a moment—Reinhardt, Torbjörn—“

“I didn’t do anything!” The Swede protested.

“—But Winston actually has something that would be worthwhile to go over.” 76 glanced at the Scientist, “We’ve debriefed some, certainly anything you all have to add will be addressed but this is an issue I want to cover before we let you go get some rest. It’s been a long few days, I know, but this is the last.” 

Winston nodded, “I’ve been analyzing the few encrypted files Fareeha managed to get for us before we left Cairo, and while you were all in Hanamura I did some work on looking at the shrapnel remnants of the pulse mine that Hanzo, ah, _found_ in Cairo.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes, Tracer elbowing him a bit with a soft giggle, “Worked out at least, right?”

“Yes, well, hopefully it’s not something any of you will have to deal with again,” Winston said a bit nervously, “Nearly gave me a heart attack when Hanzo went dark.”

“So what didja find, Big Guy?” Tracer asked.

Winston began keying a few things into the console, “We pieced together all we had from the street he was taken from, trying to learn more about the device that incapacitated him. After all, forewarned is forearmed. But on the main plate of the mine I found the remains of an image. I thought it might’ve been a logo or brand icon or something, and though it’s not something I recognize I think it might be something that could help us based on the files Fareeha gave us.”

With a decisive tap a hologram flickered into being over the mission table, displaying shards recovered from Hanzo’s misstep. Slowly the pieces turn to align and slipped to fit together and a faint image slowly clarified, though warped with the blast and missing small pieces.

A yellow smiley face with its tongue out and eyes X’d out as though it were dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bastion has literally been in Gibraltar since Chapter Six. I started hinting there and a couple other places as we went. 
> 
> /shitty surprise confetti. 
> 
> They were not good hints. 
> 
> I claimed he was found in Europe before Eichenvalde and the last Bastion aired. I feel slightly vindicated. 
> 
> Also I saw a tweet confirm that Overwatch fell about five years ago and I had been thinking it was like ten years. I even heard a caster in a professional game say it had been ten years since overwatch, so I think things are confused. But that's why the timeline consistency changed. Pfft as if this isn't super AU who-gives-a-fuck-about-timeline.


	22. No Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Partner, we need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know this is hella holy shit late. April was interesting. May will be even crazier for me, so there might be a stupid gap between updates again. I will either have a shit ton of time to write or no time at all. WE'LL SEE HOW STUFF PLAYS OUT. 
> 
> I was nervous about posting this chapter. I like it though.
> 
> But hey! Some answers. And its a long chapter. Wooooo.

Be it distracted by the Bastion or just plain physically wiped out, the meeting didn’t last long. Winston and Morrison made plans to meet with each of them and discuss the events in Hanamura and debrief with those they hadn’t already, but for now the team was scattered, distracted, and drained. 

Hanzo stayed behind, speaking to both of them, giving his perspective on events from the time they touched down in Hanamura to when they boarded the carrier, omitting the details of the infighting that had been going on between he and McCree. The fight with the Talon strike, the Ghost, and Genji. How McCree had been injured, their time holed up at the temple. 

He was looking forward to leaving by the end of it, tired from talking. 

But the end wasn’t so easy in coming. Winston pressed him for anything else he might remember about stepping on the concussive mine that had gotten him abducted back in Cairo, hoping for any overlooked detail in light of his own new work and findings, but Hanzo had said everything he could recall and had nothing more to add. 

“Why the insistence again?” Hanzo wondered, eyeing the scientist. “I told you everything I knew the first time.”

“It’s mentioned several times in the files I was able to decrypt—sort of,” Winston told him. “In what Fareeha gave us there were several mentions of ‘the idiot savant’ in reference to munitions and explosives research. I had thought I’d made a mistake in decoding it, but it keeps coming up, and after seeing this… weird graphic that was on the concussive mine…” He shrugged a bit, mouth twisted in a frown. “It’s sticking with me, that’s all.”

\--

Hanzo turned his words over and over in his head as he left the command room, feet unconsciously taking him back to the infirmary. He wasn’t completely convinced, but at the same time—the Talon operative he’d chased down had tried to make off with that mine and _only_ that mine. There was nothing he could remember but—

Well if there was something to it then he’d leave it for Winston and Morrison to sort through. If there was anything he could provide them they would ask for it. But the idea that something was going on stuck to his thoughts like tar all the way back to the infirmary.

He stepped in, looking for McCree but found Dr. Ziegler first. She held a finger to her lips and pointed to one of the cots where McCree snored faintly. 

Hanzo frowned, leaning his bow against the wall by the door and walking over to her, “He is sleeping again?”

“Yes but only because I gave him something to knock him out,” She smiled, “He’s terribly antsy when forced to stillness. One of the most patient men I’ve ever met, but if you don’t give him a choice about something he turns into a child. I needed more diagnostic data and his system still needs rest. Win-win.”

“You—“ Hanzo chose his words carefully, “—are not like any doctor I have met before.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” She said.

“I am not sure it is,” he said, watching her curiously, “What sort of doctor carries a weapon?”

She looked back over to him, her hand falling to the sidearm on her hip. “It’s a stun gun. It does not fire traditional ammunition, Mr. Shimada.”

“So it is nonlethal,” Hanzo said with more understanding. 

Dr. Ziegler smiled faintly, “No, but if you empty a clip into a human body there’s a good chance it will send them into cardiac arrest.” Her tone was frank and open, “I violated my Hippocratic Oath the same year I took it, working under the Overwatch banner. Though it… was certainly not what I’d intended. ‘Do no harm’ indeed. It was never terribly easy to be idealistic working for Overwatch. Lena and Reinhardt might be the only ones who managed.”

Hanzo nodded, understanding, “It is hard to be impartial when you’re in the midst of battle.”

She blew a slow breath out of her nose, “That is true, but fortunately Overwatch combated Omnics for the most part, even after the crisis that its success was founded upon. At the time I did not have to feel strongly like we were fighting against things that could feel pain and fear. Omnics were just machines to me, at least until…“

“Until?” He prompted.

“Well, until your brother, and after. Meeting Omnics who needed help just as much as humans did. Genji set me on the path and I had to keep considering it when the only _person_ in the entire world who managed to reach him and bring him peace and acceptance was another machine.” She smiled faintly, “I am a doctor and a scientist, Mr. Shimada. I accept evidence when it adds up.”

Hanzo nodded slowly, “Thank you for saving him,” he admitted quietly, “Genji, I mean. I do not know… If I like this new version of my brother yet, but I am able to say at least that I am glad he’s alive.”

“I’m glad he found the courage to finally find you. He was angry for a long time, but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.” Dr. Ziegler raised one eyebrow. 

“I do not,” Hanzo said. “But I wanted you—someone really—to know that I was glad he’s well. That you saved him.”

She snorted, “Saved his life, yes, but Overwatch used your brother, plain and simple. Used us both, in a way. They took advantage of my naiveté and desire to change medicine, to help the unfortunate and took advantage of his health and desperation. Genji was on life support in a hospital and would have never walked or functioned on his own again when Overwatch gave him a choice.” She sighed and shook her head. “That is no choice. That is an ultimatum. Putting us together the combination was disastrous, if somewhat miraculous.”

“But he lived,” Hanzo said softly, “Despite all my wrong choices.”

She watched him for a long moment, “What matters is that he let you back in, to hear him tell it. Whatever I or anyone else thinks of what you’ve done, that is all that really matters.”

Hanzo considered this but said nothing, knowing that what may matter just as much was what he thought of himself. “I suppose it’s true. As boys… I taught him many things at first, trying to be the responsible elder brother. It is fitting that now I learn from him.”

“We both do, I think,” Dr. Ziegler said by way of truce. “Fostered now by that Omnic Master of his.” She leaned closer, “Tell me something. Are the two them together? I was getting that sort of feeling but I didn’t know if I was the one who was imagining things—“

Hanzo put his head in his hands and groaned, “I am not talking about this.”

Her grin stretched and Hanzo wondered if this was in fact some part of her recompense for what he’d done to her old friend. Torturing him. He doubted it would be the last time. “You would not react so if you hadn’t noticed it too.”

“I am not doing this.”

She laughed softly, “Fine.” Her eyes softened as he yawned. “Why don’t you go get some sleep? He’s not going anywhere,” She gestured at McCree.

“I will, soon.” Hanzo went over, sitting next to McCree’s cot. He watched the scruffy face, lax with sleep and took a gentle comfort from the sight of his chest rising and falling steadily with even breaths. 

“Soon,” He murmured again and yawned.

\--

Awareness came slowly, lulled steadily by a familiar scent of smoke and gentle fingers in his hair. His back was stiff and he made a soft sound of discomfort, the feeling of the hand touching him vanishing quickly enough that as he blinked his eyes open he wondered if he’d been imagining it. 

He sat up and stretched, blinking the bleary sleep from his eyes and found McCree awake and watching him. “So this time you fell asleep on me and not the other way around, Partner.”

Hanzo ignored his jibe, “How’re you feeling?”

“Good, actually. Like I missed sleep instead of like a newborn kitten. Hopin’ the doc lets me out soon.”

“This is good,” Hanzo said, genuinely glad for it. 

“She had me on a drip a’ somethin’ yellow. More nanites or somethin’. Just glad I hadn’t had to use a catheter or I’d have really been worried I pissed her off and she was just switchin’ bags.” 

Hanzo made a face, “You are disgusting.”

McCree laughed softly, “Yer just easy to rile.”

The archer smiled faintly, easily relaxing in the familiar back and forth they had. He reached out to the bedside table where McCree’s immortal hat rested and dropped it on the cowboy’s head, “And you are quick to take advantage.”

“Guilty,” McCree said, laughing, pushing the brim out of his eyes. His expression softened from humor to a gentle amusement and Hanzo had to look away, his chest feeling treacherously fluttery. Then he took a slow breath, “Partner, we need to talk.”

Hanzo swallowed, feeling shame brush against him again. “You are still recovering, it can—“

“Naw, I want to. S’eatin’ at me.” He watched with steady eyes, “Will ya listen?”

“Yes,” Hanzo agreed softly, “I will listen.”

McCree nodded and fidgeted and finally sighed, “Okay look, ya figured out that I was in Hanamura lookin’ fer ya, but yer all kinds a’ wrong about the ‘why’ of it.” He blew a slow breath, “How much do ya remember about when we met? When yer family was cuttin’ a deal with Deadlock?”

Hanzo frowned, “I remember the meetings quite well.”

“Naw, not the negotiations. I meant _after_. There was the party?” McCree prompted.

“Oh,” Hanzo frowned, thinking, “The celebration of our agreement and the hope of future financial success. I remember that it happened, but I do not recall much of it. I had… imbibed perhaps a bit too much.”

McCree grinned, but it was fond. “Ya did. And yer a sleepy drunk.”

“Yes,” the archer agreed, sighing, “I am a sleepy drunk. Thank you, McCree.”

He chuckled, “Naw I mean…” His voice grew soft, his smile gentled with fond memories, “Ya wandered out and I’d happened to find ya sittin’ in the hall lookin’ at yer empty cup like it was a personal affront to yer morals, swayin’ a bit as ya tried to keep yer eyes open.”

Hanzo groaned.

“Oh it gets better, Partner. You said somethin’ to me in Japanese, which I didn’t understand but it sounded rude as hell, and then ya invited me back to yer room.” 

“We didn’t—?”

“Huh? Oh! Hell naw, Partner,” McCree looked a bit startled, “Jesus. You were drunk. No, we didn’t sleep together.”

Hanzo relaxed marginally and nodded, “So,” he prompted, frowning in thought, “What _did_ happen?”

“I tried to get ya back to yer room. You babbled at me in this strange mutt of Japanese and English that I couldn’t begin to really understand, leaned on me the whole damn way. I was gonna leave you at yer door, let ya get yerself to bed.”

“I am sensing a ‘but’ in here…” Hanzo prompted, trying his best to look exasperated.

“You have no sense for dramatic pauses, Partner. Fine. Ya stopped at the threshold and blinked at me all sleepy and asked if I’d come back with ya to Hanamura.”

“Out of nowhere?” Hanzo frowned.

“See that’s what I said. I gotcha in the room, thinkin’ it was the alcohol talkin’ but I don’ think it were.” McCree’s expression grew sad and pensive, “I set ya on the bed, thinkin’ I’d leave and ya asked me…” He quieted a moment before continuing, “Ya said: ‘Don’t you ever wish you had a better future?’”

Hanzo swallowed thickly. “I do not remember this event but I remember that thought. How I had it for months and weeks—years—hanging over me like a black cloud. How I fought against it, tried my best to be the Shimada son that I had to. With my father and after he passed. Everything of our family’s was to be mine, and I wanted it all and dreaded it equal measure,” He ran a hand over his face, “The things I did for my family, trying to silence that thought.” He didn’t say it. Didn’t say his brother’s name. 

McCree watched him, calm and steady, “Ya sounded so damn sad.” He looked away, “And ya know what? Damned if I hadn’t had that exact thought before myself. Hearin’ it from another man’s mouth was like seein’ a ghost. So I sat down in a chair and... we talked.”

“And that’s all we did?” Hanzo murmured, almost disbelieving.

“Yeah,” McCree said, “And… no. Ya were fallin’ asleep and drunk but ya just sort of opened up and yer soul spilled out. Ya talked about doomed responsibilities like they were some hopeless curse and better futures, like they were some impossible dream. About bein’ trapped an’ seein’ bleak an’ black on yer own horizon and not bein’ able to do anythin’ but walk towards it. About bein’ given one path, one option an’ that ain’t no choice at all. You were stuck with what ya’d been born into, the expectations and responsibilities you were made to carry cause a’ your name.

“It was like hearin’ something echo in my own self, a reverberation of the idea. I was born poor as shit to a nothin’ town, but I know what it’s like to not have a choice. Where I was from if you wanted to be safe or to keep someone safe then ya joined Deadlock, and didn’t worry about them hurtin’ yer family no more. An’ Deadlock? Well, till Overwatch picked me up the only way outta that gang was in a casket. 

“Not to say that there weren’t days I didn’t like what I did, loved shootin’ a gun, but I knew what was comin’ down my tracks. Knew it was a matter a’ time. Hearin’ that same sad dread from you… Well I didn’t feel so alone, ya know?” he paused again and smiled, soft and gentle and distant, the memory warm, “An’ I think you felt the same. I told ya’ bout Deadlock an’ everything and you smiled at me, this…” He shook his head, his expression distant and dream-like, “Prettiest damn smile I’d ever seen. An’ you said ‘So come back with me and we won’t be alone anymore.”

Hanzo watched, heart in his throat. “But you didn’t.”

McCree sighed, “Naw, Partner. For a few hours, sittin’ in that room with you, I let myself pretend I could. But I’d sold my soul to the Deadlock and one yakuza scion couldn’t change that. No matter how much I wanted it.” He shook his head, “An’ then not long later I was picked up by Overwatch, and that was about the same. A better future and no choice, an’ I kept thinkin’ about ya. An’ after that… I met Genji, heard about what Blackwatch’s plans were for the Shimada clan and put it all together. The big picture.” He looked sadly at Hanzo, “God I worried for ya. Was so afraid I’d hear about yer assassination third-hand from some other Blackwatch grunt. But I never did, and found out later you were unaccounted for. Missin’ from the raids.”

“I was in Mongolia when Overwatch finished with the Shimada clan,” Hanzo murmured, reflecting, “I remember feeling like it was some kind of dream, watching everything you’d ever known crumble from afar.”

“I couldn’t follow up on ya, Darlin’, not fer _years_.” McCree said and Hanzo’s heart rate jumped hearing that familiar, _stupid _endearment from the cowboy again. “But I never forgot ya. Not fer a single day. It wasn’t until Overwatch fell and I was a free agent that I could try and find ya.” He watched Hanzo evenly, eyes steady and honest. “That’s what I was doin’ in Hanamura. Was lookin’ fer you. Was always lookin’ fer you.”__

__“God,” Hanzo whispered, face coming to rest in his hands, “I didn’t remember. Not a moment of it. I barely remembered _you_.”_ _

__“Hey,” McCree smiled, reaching up to pull his hands away from his face, “It doesn’t matter. No big deal. You gonna forget me now?” He teased._ _

__“Never,” Hanzo whispered the word as serious as he could mean it. “Never again.”_ _

__“Good,” McCree relaxed a bit back on the cot. “I’m glad.”_ _

__“I have not treated you well,” the archer mourned softly, “All this time. Why did you never tell me?”_ _

__“Would’a kinda been a dick move on my end if I had,” McCree pointed out. “What one person took as an important experience could’ve been forgotten the next day by the other. People change too. Wouldn’ta asked ya fer anythin’, Darlin’ an’ you know it.”_ _

__“You will not have to ask,” Hanzo said, solemn._ _

__McCree blinked slowly, “What?”_ _

__“Whatever you need from this day on,” Hanzo continued, not looking away from McCree’s startled brown eyes, “My bow, my eyes, my silence, my trust, my loyalty. No matter what, they are all yours, Jesse. They will not be shaken again.”_ _

__McCree swallowed, his eyes wide, “Goes both ways, Partner, you should know.”_ _

__Hanzo smiled a bit sadly, “I have always been able to count on you, Jesse McCree. Even when I did not deserve it.”_ _

__The gunman laughed, “You always deserved it, Partner. Everyone makes mistakes.”_ _

__Hanzo rolled his eyes, but his smile was constant and genuine. “You are a stupid cowboy,” He said, “But I am… very glad I met you. Both times.”_ _

__“Aw hell—“_ _

_“Winston to the Infirmary! Winston to the infirmary, do you copy me?”_ The scientist’s voice came in over the intercom speaker, frantic and harried. 

Elsewhere in the clinic Hanzo heard Dr. Ziegler mutter something softly in German before responding, “Yes, Winston, we’ve got you, what is it?” 

_“Someone is tripping the motion sensors in the Watchpoint. Someone unaccounted for,”_ He reported grimly. _“Someone we can’t identify. They came in where I haven’t completely restored power and security to the Watchpoint, I can’t check on it! Is everything alright there?”_

The doctor glanced back at the two of them on the cot and then back to the comm, “We’re all fine here, Winston.” 

_“Good. Whoever it is should be heading in your direction. I’m heading over there now. Morrison and the others have this part of the base locked down in case they head that way.”_

“I hate to say it, Winston, but you're sort of asking for it. It isn’t like you moved. You were attacked outright and stayed right where you—“ 

_“That’s not the point!”_ Winston said, flustered, _“The point is we have a problem and we have to deal with it. I’ll be there soon. Winston out.”_

Dr. Ziegler shook his head, “Am I that single minded about things? Goodness I hope not,” She stood from her desk, “Sounds like you may need to be getting on, Mr. Shimada. Visiting hours seem to have suddenly ended.” 

__Hanzo nodded seriously and frowned, standing, heading for his bow by the door, “You will both be fine here?”_ _

__She nodded, “I have my sidearm and an entire clinic of chemicals. We will be fine.”_ _

__“You could give me back my Peacekeeper, doc,” McCree wheedled, trying to look innocent._ _

__She tilted her head, weighing him and then nodded, “Fine. If this is more than a loose animal I would rather you were armed even if you’re not one hundred percent.” She ignored McCree’s whoop of victory to turn back to Hanzo. “One way or another, we’ll have it handled. Go on and find Winston.”_ _

__He nodded and slipped from the clinic, lifting his bow easily from where he’d rested it, sending one last glance over his shoulder at McCree. The cowboy caught his eye and tipped the brim of his hat. Rolling his eyes, Hanzo stepped out of the infirmary._ _

__He had a scientist to join and an intruder to find—_ _

__Then shivered as he stepped into the hall, blinking rapidly. Gooseflesh spread over his bared skin and his breath came out as a plume of white._ _

__Gibraltar was Mediterranean._ _

Why was it so _cold?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez, this isn't even the first time in this fic this has happened Winston, get your shit together.


	23. Ice Ice Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Remember this place was attacked by that Ghost,” He warned, “And he was after agent identities and whereabouts. Someone is after former Overwatch members. If it got to her… It could be a trick or a trap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I am sorry this is very late, thank you all so much for your patience. I was traveling and/or away from my home for two weeks out of last month, and then had to catch up in the Overwatch event, so I got started writing late. 
> 
> I'm not satisfied with this chapter, but I needed to get it posted.
> 
> Again, thank you guys for being so patient. I may rename the chapter title. I may not. 
> 
> I had a couple readers request brief recaps at the opening of each chapter as this thing drags on and based on the deal we cut:
> 
> "LAST TIME ON DRAGON BALL Z:
> 
> Having finished a mission in Hanamura, picked up Genji and Zenyatta, and returned to Gibraltar to meet Mercy, Hanzo and McCree finally worked out the trouble between them and emerged closer for it. As for where this tight knit commraderie will lead, only time will tell, and there may be trouble lurking at the Watchpoint..."
> 
> Hopefully somewhat informative and suitably cheesy. If better clarification is needed I will expand it. But don't worry, I'm not allowed to channel spirit bomb for five chapters.

Hanzo nocked an arrow loosely against his bowstring, ready to be drawn just in case. He hoped the doctor was right and this was just some animal that had wandered in. Most everyone on base was still ragged after their extended travels and lack of sleep. His nap had helped but a full nights rest was not so easily replaced. 

But this _cold,_ confounded him. The clinic was connected to the rest of the compound but also sat separate and there were just as many paths that were outside in the sun and sea breeze as there were corridors within the watchpoint proper. There wasn’t even any wind to speak of, and the sun had not yet set. There was no reason for a chill out here. 

He moved forward slowly, keeping his footsteps light and silent on the concrete. Around him the air slowly continued to drop in temperature until he turned a corner carefully, bow up, and paused, the sight he found bringing him to a full stop. 

A line of ice and frost was painted over the wall in a thick line, the crystals shimmering in the gentle light. He stepped up to it carefully, sniffing faintly and when no chemical scent met his inspection he swiped careful fingers through it, shivering a bit, the ice smearing a bit under his touch. It seemed ordinary without better tools for inspection. He looked right and saw the trail disappear around a corner, heading for the rest of the Watchpoint, and looked left. The trail there was slightly dripping down the wall, patchy as it already had begun to melt. 

So the intruder, who or whatever it was, had headed right. 

He dithered, chewing his lip in consideration and wishing for his earpiece to alert those in the main building. He could take the risk and follow alone or he could wait for Winston to arrive. His eyes narrowed, recalling the events in Cairo the last time he hurried forward alone. 

Hanzo waited for Winston. 

The scientist was surprisingly quiet when he got there some minutes later, his rockets on a low, soft burn and making no sound. “I checked the infirmary first, all still well there. What have you—Oh?” Winston knuckled over, peering at the swath of melting ice on the wall, adjusting his glasses. “I’d swear this almost looks like—but no. It can’t be.” 

“Can’t be what?” Hanzo asked, wary. If he’d learned anything from his time with these people it was that nothing _couldn’t_ be. 

“It just reminds me of someone I know, but it’s not possible. Last correspondence from her she was in the Himalayas….” 

“Perhaps she returned then.” Hanzo moved forward, slinking along towards where the ice trail led. 

“She had a beacon though,” Winston worried. “I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t have called—“ 

“Does it really matter?” Hanzo hissed quietly. 

“It might. Remember this place was attacked by that Ghost,” He warned, “And he was after agent identities and whereabouts. Someone is after former Overwatch members. If it got to her… It could be a trick or a trap.” 

“Only one way to be sure. And it will be much harder for this intruder to potentially surprise both of us.” Hanzo continued pressing forward. The two followed the frost on the wall, easing forward towards the heart of the Watchpoint. The air around them grew colder and Hanzo held up a hand suddenly, hearing movement just around the next bend. 

“Be ready to drop your shield,” Hanzo murmured softly, drawing his bow, wishing there was time and distance for a sonic arrow to give him a hint. Winston’s eyes narrowed and the scientist nodded, his rockets glowing, ready to spring as well if needed. 

Hanzo took a slow breath, eyes narrowed and sprung around the corner, bow trained and steady, ready for anything. 

Except, perhaps, a pair of glasses and an icicle pointed at his face. 

They both froze in surprise. 

Were McCree present there’d be something said about puns. 

As it was, he and the interloper stared, wide-eyed for a long second until Winston sidled around and blinked. “Dr. Zhou? What are you doing here?” 

The young woman—for that was all she appeared to be—blinked from behind her large glasses and put down the strange cryo-weapon she carried. “Winston?” 

Winston beamed, clearly excited by finding the trespasser, “I’m so glad it’s just you, Dr. Zhou! We had thought—well, I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s good to see you!” 

She beamed, her smile sunny, “You too, Winston!” 

“What are you doing here though?” The Scientist asked, frowning. “Why not send a message ahead?” 

“I lost my beacon,” She looked abashed. 

“Lost—Oh, of course, I understand. Some remote Watchpoint?” 

“No...” She hedged, “I… stopped in Los Angeles to see a movie… and I left it on a bus. I feel so dumb about it!” 

Winston laughed a little, “Well I can replace it, at least. But I have to ask, why were you using your endothermic blaster on the walls here?” 

She blushed a little, “It’s silly. It’s so warm here and I didn’t want to carry my coat anymore. It and Snowball here—“ She shifted and Hanzo saw a small pod-like robot on her back, “—are both so _heavy_. So I just, ah, made it comfortable!” She offered him a sheepish smile, “Sorry?” 

“It’ll melt right off, no harm done.” 

“So,” She turned her attention back to Hanzo, “Who is this?” 

“Ah, my apologies. This is Hanzo Shimada; he’s helping Overwatch get back on its feet.” Winston gestured to him. 

Hanzo bowed his head in greeting and slipped the arrow back in his quiver, sliding the Storm Bow back over his shoulder. “Greetings, Dr. Zhou, was it?” 

“Call me Mei-Ling, please,” She smiled and bowed in return. “I used to work for Overwatch as a climatologist; I’ve had some contact with Winston since I, hmm, warmed back up to Overwatch. Good to see more people involved!” 

“Let’s head back to the main lab,” Winston handed Hanzo a handheld comm. “Give the infirmary the all-clear, so they’re not worrying anymore. We can let the main building know we’re coming too.” 

Hanzo nodded and lifted it to his mouth, following behind the two scientists, “Hanzo to the Infirmary.” 

A moment later a voice came on the line, _“Mercy—I mean, Dr. Ziegler speaking. Goodness it’s been a long time for that. What’s going on out there, Mr. Shimada?”_

“All clear,” He reported, dutiful and glad for the call. “Everything is fine, false alarm.” 

_“Ah, excellent. Jesse, put your gun down! I said—“_ her voice cut out and then came back. _“So was it an animal?”_

“No,” He smiled faintly, “An old Overwatch scientist actually visiting Winston about a missing beacon.” 

_An Overwatch scientist?”_ She wondered, “Who?” 

“A climatologist named Mei-Ling Zhou, she—“

_“Mei—?”_ There was a clatter and suddenly her voice came in louder, as if the receiver was right up against her mouth, _“Mei as in Mei who we thought died in Antarctica with the rest of the Ecopoint staff?”_

“I—“ Hanzo blinked, “I don’t know about that—“

_“Jesse, sit down!”_ In the background he heard the cadence of McCree’s voice without being able to make out the words. A moment later the doctor’s voice came back, _“I’ll be there as soon as I can. In fact we may both, if he behaves himself and decides to listen—“_ The line cut out again with some muffled talking and then he heard Dr. Ziegler come on with a honey-sweet, _“I’ll be there when I can. I have so much I want to ask her—“_ He heard McCree start up again in the background and knew she was in for a fight. 

Hanzo cut the comm, his message delivered, smile on his face. McCree was such a strong personality, he was happy to hear him spoiling for a fight. Even one as small as this.

\--

Reaching the main labs and war room garnered a reaction about as wild and enthusiastic as Hanzo expected, given the colorful company. The Chinese climatologist was _swarmed_ immediately, most of the old guard completely mobbed her, and Hanzo picked up pieces to add to the clue he’d already been given.

Apparently she’d been at an Antarctic Ecopoint. Apparently she was presumed dead. For almost _ten years_.

“Imagine my surprise!” Mei-Ling gushed, her happiness pouring off her, sliding off her pod-like robot and her heavy coat once she was in the air-conditioned building. “It’s so ameizing to see so many people on base like this! It’s been so long since I’ve seen everyone!”

“Understand, Dr. Zhou,” Morrison started slowly, “You and the other scientists were presumed dead for years. I had—If I’d known I would’ve—“

Hanzo couldn’t imagine what 76 was feeling, knowing one of the people he had been responsible for had been in need of rescue and it had never come. His gaze strayed to the interested tilt of Genji’s head, where the cyborg watched the newcomer. Well, perhaps he could understand somewhat. 

“It was kinda scary, waking up alone there, sad too,” Dr. Zhou admitted, but then immediately brightened, “It’s okay though. The world is so new and interesting now!” She beamed, “And some of you haven’t changed too much at all! Reinhardt is still so tall! And I think Torbjörn’s beard just got longer.” 

It startled a smile out of most of them and broke the tension a little, Hanzo noted. 

“It is so good to see you again and well, Dr. Zhou.” Reinhardt said, huge grin splitting his face. “The loss of the Ecopoints, especially yours, always troubled me. I would fight any foe, but the earth itself is not so easy to challenge.”

“Aye,” Torbjörn agreed, “I helped engineer some a’ of the climate tech used in the Ecopoints. I was really hoping to see the lot a’ ya do some good.”

“I still want to,” She said, smiling softly, her hope clear in her voice, “Winston issued the recall about the big stuff you can see: war, sickness, social strife. Things Overwatch used to stand against. But it’s the things you can’t see so easily that worry me. Our planet is sick too, and it doesn’t care what country you’re from, if you’re human or Omnic, what God you believe in, anything. If our planet unbalances anymore… people will get hurt and die no matter who they are.” She blinked and smiled sheepishly, “Sorry! That got dark.”

“You always cared deeply,” Morrison noted, smiling faintly, looking very tired and very old, “I wish you’d told me you’d been in contact with her, Winston.”

“Well when you more or less came back from the dead it was not the first thing on my mind, Jack,” The scientist deadpanned. “Ah, No offense, Dr. Zhou.”

76 sighed and ran a hand through his short hair, “Regardless, it’s good to see your spirit hasn’t been dampened, Mei.”

“Can’t keep me down!” She chirped, “Or… frozen. I guess. But looks like it’s true for all of you as well! There are so many new faces here, Winston! So many people who want to help!”

“Some you probably haven’t even met yet from our Overwatch days,” Winston nodded, “This is Lena Oxton, call sign Tracer,” He gestured to Tracer where she’d been nearly vibrating in her excitement, trying not to just jump on the poor woman. “She joined Overwatch after, ah, your Ecopoint was lost.”

“It’s so excitin’ to meet you, Dr. Zhou!” She blinked in close, offering her hand.

“Wow!” Mei-Ling brightened and shook, “That was ameizing! How’d you do that?”

“Winston will have to take the credit for the chronal accelerator,” Tracer beamed, elbowing the large scientist, “But it’s so cool to meet you in person! I really admire the work ya did, and I love readin’ the journal you’ve been publishin’!”

Winston nodded, “Genji here is Hanzo’s brother, and was actually a member as well, but I doubt you’ve met him.”

Genji stepped forward and bowed respectfully, a gesture which Mei returned, “Genji Shimada, formerly of Blackwatch.” He said by way of explanation, “I was aware of your work, though we were never introduced. I too, am glad that you’ve returned unharmed.”

“Whoa, Blackwatch,” She murmured. “Scary.”

“Jesse McCree is another former Blackwatch operative on premises,” Morrison said, “But he’s stuck in the infirmary. You can meet him later.”

“I met him once, I think,” Mei said, thinking back, “He was funny. I liked his hat.”

Genji reached back, gesturing to Zenyatta where he had been silent and Hanzo had nearly forgotten he was there, the Omnic easily fading in and out of the background, “This is my good friend and Master, Tekhartha Zenyatta.”

Zenyatta bowed to her as well, “Greetings. It is always good to meet others who care so deeply for our world. You mentioned in your journals that you have been to the Himalayas, have you not? I used to dwell there myself.”

“Oh,” Her eyes widened, “You’re a member of the Shambali, aren’t you? Wow!”

“Formerly of the order,” Zenyatta said. “But I do miss the mountains. Perhaps sometime we may share stories?”

“I would love to!”

“—And this is Lúcio,” Winston continued, and the young man bowed politely.

“Hi!”

“He’s a full-time DJ and musician, part-time freedom fighter and Overwatch-reformation operative,” Winston continued.

“Ohh,” Mei-Ling jumped a little, “A musician? I am so behind on music since I woke up. Maybe you can help me get caught up?”

“Aw, heck yeah! That sounds like fun!” Lúcio agreed eagerly, bright white smile flashing. 

“And who’s the last one?” Mei-Ling asked.

Morrison and Winston exchanged a glance, “The last one?”

Mei pointed and everyone turned to see the Bastion unit watching them with that single, unblinking blue eye, no longer paying attention to the nature documentary it had been viewing. “You’ve got a Bastion Unit here.”

“Unfortunately,” Torbjörn muttered.

“There’s got to be a cool story behind that!” She said and got up to go over to it, curious, “Hi there!” 

“There’s no point in talkin’ to it, it can’t speak—“ Torbjörn tried again.

“Bwoop woop, bwoop woop,” The Bastion responded, waving a hand.

“—Or you could try anyway,” The engineer sighed. 

“What do you call it?” She asked.

“We’ve just been calling it ‘The Bastion.’ We’re not really sure what to do with it,” Torbjörn shrugged.

“What? But that’s boring!” Mei pouted.

“It’s _practical_ ,” he said, huffing. “I’d love to pull it apart and do some analyses but the damn thing just isn’t havin’ it.”

She giggled, “I don’t think any of you can be accused of practical, operating for Overwatch again. Even _I’d_ heard it was shut down.”

“Maybe,” Winston agreed. “But the world needs help these days. You know that as well as anyone. We can’t do anything as Overwatch, not officially, but we were devoted to the good of the world. And official label or not we can be again. We are _still_ Overwatch.”

Hanzo felt himself straightening slightly, hearing Winston speak. It was a new feeling, being proud of something, being a part of something worth having pride in. But he liked it. It was no wonder even though it was illegal people still came back to the banner of Overwatch.

Dr. Zhou’s smile softened, “I guess we are!”

“We?” Morrison asked, faint smile quirking at his tired mouth.

She nodded and grinned a little, impish and playful, “Well yeah, I mean… _I_ was never told to cease and desist.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll hold up in court,” Morrison rolled his eyes.

“I guess this means we have to clean out another room?” Reinhardt asked hopefully.

“What’s this ‘we’ nonsense?” Torbjörn protested. 

They bickered together a moment and Winston shook his head, “Well we’re glad to have you. There’s always room for more, and you’ve caught us in a moment of quiet, but we’ll be back at it soon. Lot’s to do.” He sighed, “Lots to figure out. I should warn you this is different than the work you were doing, if you really want to help. Not much climatology. We’re… well, dealing with the splinter group remains of Blackwatch, calling themselves Talon. It’s dangerous work.”

“I know it’s different. But the world is different too. I can handle it. Maybe I can help,” She said, looking away from the Bastion. “I might’ve been frozen for almost a decade, but I’ve been around a lot since I woke up. I’m not defenseless either!”

Winston nodded, “Thank you, Mei. And even if you can’t help us track down the clue we’re working through, it couldn’t hurt, I suppose. We’re currently looking for some kind of match or similar icon to an image we pieced together.” 

He keyed the console and brought back the image of the strange, demented, dead smiling face from the mine Hanzo had found with his feet. The archer winced a little, still feeling that small burn of shame and embarrassment. 

But to his surprise Mei-Ling frowned, peering at it. 

“Oh,” She said, “ _Him_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mei's backstory is one of the strangest in game, I think. I couldn't nail down an exact time, but we know she was frozen before Overwatch's fall, so at least five years, but because her lack of aging is significant enough to warrant in-game voice interaction I've chosen to place it a little closer to ten years. 
> 
> Which is... fucked up. Like no one even came for the bodies of the scientists lost at the Ecopoint. And I can't imagine there weren't families and next of kin demanding the remains of their loved ones. And there's no way the storm lasted more than a few weeks at most or something so monumental would've had the world in uproar. 
> 
> I love Blizzard games, but having played them for almost a decade now I know story and specifically continuity is not their strong suit. I mean points of Overwatch have already been retconned and it just turned a year old.


	24. You're trapped in here with--Okay, yeah, I'm trapped with you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t even believe how much the blond one talked,” Mei sighed, “He never stopped talking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is hella late because I've lost my ability to manage my time. I meant to have it up like... over a week ago. Guess what didn't happen. Figured I better do it before the summer games eats me alive. 
> 
> While ultimately I'm happy with how this chapter reads, it was a lose/lose for me. I've been trying dearly not to leave Hanzo's PoV for the whole fic, but with this chapter I realized I could do an extremely boring exposition block (again) and keep it in his perspective, or I could have a more interesting chapter by breaking this mold. With a number of people excited for junkers, I decided to try something different. Here's hoping that it paid off in an enjoyable read.
> 
> LAST TIME: After Hanzo and McCree finally communicated like adults (and Hanzo learned the full story of when they'd met in their younger years) they received word of an intruder in Gibraltar. Fortunately it turned out to only be Dr. Mei-Ling Zhou, looking for Winston. The old guard was gladdened to see her alive and well, thinking her lost with the Eco Base in Antarctica, but she seems to know something about the one who constructed the mine Hanzo had a run-in with back in Cairo...

Mei scooted a little more tightly into the corner of her seat in the gondola of the cable car, Snowball sitting in her lap. It was warm in the heated car, but she didn’t take her coat off, and kept her bag between her legs, minimizing space taken. She stared out the window, determined, watching the beautiful landscape of Queenstown and lake Wakatipu shift by as the car made its slow, steady climb. Mei had been looking forward to seeing Bob’s Peak for a long time, and now that she was free to travel, she’d finally been able to make some space for a trip. She reached up to the fogged glass and swiped her finger through the moisture, drawing a little smiling face idly.

“That’s a borin’ smile,” One of the other passengers in the cable car said, “Ain’t got no teeth to it.”

Mei stiffened and then risked a glance at the speaker, knowing immediately it was a mistake. The man who’d spoken was terribly unsettling, lank blond hair wild and uneven, scorched and burnt in places. Dressed in near-rags with a kaleidoscope of various patches and images stitched into the fabric, shirt missing entirely, one of his legs and one of his arms replaced with irregular prosthetics, their construction roughshod and ungainly, the replacement leg little more than a peg limb.

He was more than a little unsettling.

“Here, see?” He pulled out—Oh no, what on _earth_ —what looked like a _land mine_ , “Teeth! Makes a great little smiley face.” Mei sat stiffly as he giggled. “What’cha think? Better right?”

She was saved from having to respond by the _second_ person sharing the cable car—and honestly the one who was more upsetting because this compartment surely wasn’t meant to _swing_ like that when he moved—a huge, _huge_ man, crammed into three-quarters of the other bench, wearing a gas mask and fiddling with what looked like some canister of chemical, she could make out a biohazard and the word _HOGDROGEN_. A large, rather unattractive tattoo proclaiming _Hog Power_ spread over his expansive gut.

“Stop trying to make friends.”

His voice was like a landslide, powerful and gravelly, and it made all the hair on the back of Mei’s neck stand on end.

“Come on, Hog,” The slighter, burnt man whined, “It’s a good face, cute I think!”

It was not, it was unnerving, but Mei did not dare say so. She’d seen the weapons they carried, messy constructions with so many sharp edges and loose bits they looked like a recipe for tetanus. Subtly she checked the charge on Snowball. He was blizzard-ready if she absolutely needed it, and while she didn’t _want_ to fall from this height, she knew she could likely survive it with her cryofreeze. Assuming it didn’t malfunction again and leave her stuck for days…

The huge man—Hog?—said nothing to his companion, just the impassive black mask staring vacantly ahead. He shifted and the whole car swung.

Mei closed her eyes tightly. She hated that.

“You been payin’ an awful lot of attention to that little robot.”

She jerked up to find the singed man watching her with one beady eye. 

“It ain’t an _Omnic_ , is it?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Just a gizmo? A gadget? A thingamabob?”

She held snowball a bit tighter, “It’s just a little tool.”

His grin was just a touch feral, “Good choice. Can’t trust those bots far as you can throw ‘em. An’ they weigh a ton, don’t they?” He giggled.

Hog sighed heavily and shifted and Mei clutched Snowball tighter as the cable car swung. The little robot’s head swiveled, responding to the distress it sensed around it, and Mei’s eyes darted again helplessly to the blizzard charge. Still ready. Still an option. 

“Right?” He tried to get Mei’s attention again, and she wished desperately that she hadn’t been in such a hurry to see the summit. “Hate ‘em. The lot of ‘em.” He seemed to twitch, eyes sharp and distant, considering something elsewhere. “Every damn bot I get to send to the scrap heap is as good as a public service.”

Mei happened to like Omnics. She’d worked with more than a few and had always appreciated their straightforward insight and hard work. She’d served with several down in Antarctica, had hoped when she’d been thawed out and was alone that perhaps the Omnics on base would be able to be reactivated, all of them powering down to save on generator power. But when she’d tried to bring them online they too were beyond saving. The cold and time had damaged too much. Taken too much. She’d remember their loss as strongly as she remembered the lives of the scientists who never made it out of cryofreeze.

But this was not the time to defend her views and argue with someone about Omnics.

“Hey!” The smaller man squawked as he elbowed his massive companion, “We’re doing a public service, aren’t we?”

“Stop talking,” Hog sighed and shifted, and Mei closed her eyes, fighting down a wave of nausea as the car swung. She tried to reason that he was probably uncomfortable on the small bench with a bulk like his. It wasn’t like he was doing it on purpose.

It didn’t help.

“No, no, no, no,” The singed man babbled, “We totally are!” He rounded on Mei again, eyes bright and manic with excitement. “We have got an amazin’ opportunity—“

Hog _thwapped_ him in the head.

“Oh, c’mon, mate! Who’s she gonna tell, eh?”

The massive man, this Hog, was silent.

But Mei could _feel_ his eyes on her behind that mask. It felt very much like being sized up by a predator.

The smaller man—she wondered what his name was and then internally scolded herself for curiosity—rounded back to her. “We’re gonna do some _legit business_. Very Serious stuff! We have a very important meetin’. We’re goin’ to talk to some fine, _upstandin’_ people about drawin’ up a little contract, ya see?” He turned to his friend, “Did we ever come up with somethin’ better to call us? ‘Arms Dealers’ sounds so… scary, ya know?”

“Shut up,” Hog said.

“Hmm, maybe ‘pyrotechnicians’. How’s that sound?”

The Hog was silent.

“You’re right, too fancy. Oh! I know, I know! _Demolitions Experts_. Yeah, now we’re talkin’! Sounds almost professional, don’t it?” He turned back around to Mei, grin bright and entirely too full of teeth. “Let’s go with that! An’ these people are gonna scrap all kinds a’ bots from the sound a’ things. Oh, just thinkin’ of it sends shivers down me spine! I can’t wait!” He dissolved into giggles again.

Mei had never in her life been more glad to hear the automated voice come over the car intercom to let them know they’d be arriving in the station momentarily, and to please collect their belongings.  
As soon as the car pulled into the station and the attendants opened the door—gawking as Hog and his lanky friend disembarked—she stepped out and bowed to thank them. She was about to turn away when she found the blank, black stare of the Hog watching her. Studying her. She swallowed and put on a bright happy smile and said farewell in Chinese before hurrying off, not feeling safe.

\--

“—And I immediately bought a ticket for a return trip,” Mei finished, shuddering a bit. “I didn’t want to see the vista _that_ badly.”

“Sounds like quite a couple of characters,” Morrison said grimly, eyes narrowing a bit as he thought.

“I can’t even believe how much the blond one talked,” Mei sighed, “He never stopped talking. He sounded Australian though, if that helps. Very thick accent.”

Winston frowned, “Likely a Junker then, from the sound of it, and that would explain the anti-Omnic bias and the references to him in Talon’s records. But if he’s left Australia and he wasn’t _with_ Talon…” The scientist paused. “Well Athena and I have our work cut out trying to find him, that’s for sure.”

“What are the chances of him still being in New Zealand?”

“Probably not good,” Hanzo chimed in, listening the whole time. “They were meeting there in an open place to discuss terms, it sounded like. I cannot imagine they’d stay. Not when they knew at least one person could mark their presence there.”

“I didn’t tell anyone!” Mei _eeped_. “Well, until now anyway. I think the only reason I got away was they thought I didn’t speak English very well.”

Morrison met Hanzo’s eyes and nodded once, understanding the experience behind the judgment. “Yours is a good point, sadly. You think we have a chance to find them? They might be our best link back to Talon to dig out whatever they’re after.”

“Anyone can be found,” Winston said decisively.

“I don’t think they were trying to be very sneaky,” Mei added. “If they were as obvious other places as they were there it might not be very hard.”

“I certainly hope so,” Winston worried. “I am concerned we’re racing a timer I can’t see. If we only had more information…”

“Worry about that when we come to it,” Morrison said. “Winston, get Athena started on combing around for anything we can find. The sooner we have something the sooner we can get someone.” He stopped and looked over everyone assembled, hanging onto his words.

Hanzo knew they must look pathetic. Worn down and tired as surprises, bad news, and constant pressure had all taken their toll.

“Everyone should get some rest,” Morrison finished and Hanzo felt something tight and worn dull deflate within him at the former commander’s words. “There will be plenty to do soon, but for now the time is yours. Recuperation sounds like just about the best use I can think of.”

Audible sighs around the room, and Hanzo spotted more than one person sagging a little in relief. Falling uninterrupted into a bed and tumbling into unconsciousness for the foreseeable future? It was what they all needed. Rest tired bodies and minds and reset internal clocks.

Everything else, the world, Talon, all of it could wait.

The group split up after that, most going off to sleep, though he thought he heard Reinhardt make rumblings of finding food first. Tracer actually walked out of the room without blinking, saying something softly to Lúcio as they went. Mei was going to stay on working with Winston and Athena it seemed like, and Torbjörn seemed to try and get the Bastion to move off without success.

Zenyatta went and joined the combat robot, sitting before it. His orbs lit up around him, glowing symbols of Omnic script appearing over each ball with a delicate chime. The Bastion began making an excited series of beeps, talking very quickly as it were. Hanzo snorted, watching Genji lurk over his Master’s shoulder. The only sign of tension in the cyborg in the fists his hands curled into and the faint glint of ready shuriken in his palms.

Hanzo slipped out of the room as well, feeling the exhaustion in his limbs and traced a path through the halls to his room. Mostly barren, he slowly stripped out of his boots and layers of clothing. Tired as he was things still kept turning over in his head. He needed to do some minor upkeep and adjustments on his bow and his boots—he’d have to ask Torbjörn if he could use his tools—and needed to construct a new supply of arrows as well. The sonic chips were a pain, but at least here he’d have modern facilities to work in.

He pulled on some plain sleep pants and lay back on the cot in the mostly empty room and sighed, eyes closing and relaxed slowly, letting go of as much tension as he could. Long minutes passed, and he shifted restlessly, arm crossing over his head to cover his eyes. He was too damn tired to sleep. His mind still swirled with turning over the issue of the mine and Dr. Zhou and whatever it meant that these strange Junkers were working for a group like Talon.

And there was also—

He bit his lip a little, eyes still closed behind his arm.

He thought of McCree’s low, earnest voice, telling him of a moment that could have been a turning point for both of them had they both not turned from it. It was hard not to imagine it. The two of them alone in a plush hotel room, both on the bed. He imagined what McCree must’ve looked like as a younger man, picturing him without the thick scruff and with fewer lines around his eyes. Handsome no doubt, though he was fairly fond of how he looked now. Maybe quite fond.

He wondered how different their lives might be if he hadn’t been so inebriated, if he’d dared steal a kiss that night.

Hanzo shivered and his hand slid down, cupping himself idly, finding himself already swelling and stiffening. He smiled faintly, the expression more depreciating than amused. “You’re so pathetic,” He murmured, but slipped a hand into his sleep pants to stroke slowly, shivering. _Just to try and sleep_ , he told himself.

But his mind picked up with the _possibility_ of that one night so long ago. He wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth that so easily went from spouting filth to honest feeling. If he’d have to press soft kisses until it softened or if McCree would be as eager to reciprocate as he played at being.

He stroked faster steadily, his other hand thumbing a nipple, idly, biting his lip as his fantasy marched forward.

McCree’s hands, one callused from his firearm, the other smooth and metal, cupping his jaw, holding his face in a gently grip as he kissed him slow and deep, unhurried in this as he seemed to be in most things. He wanted to feel the wide expanse of the cowboy’s large hands smoothing up his chest, pressing into the muscle of his pectorals, palming his nipples. He wanted to feel the brush of beard against his ear and the low smoky sound of McCree’s voice—

Hanzo shuddered, squeezing through a particularly willful twitch and pumping faster. God he wished it wasn’t his own hand. He bit his lip, imagining that large, rough flesh hand or even, fuck, the metal one. _You sad desperate man_ , he thought, but there was no self-deprecation it, he needed this too much.

He was close then, it wouldn’t take much.

It was so easy to imagine McCree’s drawl around the words, _Come for me, Darlin’_ , and then helplessly, Hanzo was. Arching off the old mattress as he finished, stroking through it in a frenzy until the shocks began to fade and he lay back and caught his breath, eyes closed. He couldn’t really help the smile on his face.

He should go clean himself up, he knew.

But Hanzo was asleep in moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to make the bit at the end M-rated appropriate and not edge into Explicit.
> 
> Next chapter is mostly character based and not plot based, but if it works like I have planned it should be a fun read. Have to give these goobers a little break, after all.


	25. Farewell and Welcome Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am never gonna get tired of Blackwatch’s little hate machine all crazy for that monk of all things. Please keep talking. This is making my day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uh, I genuinely thought I'd posted this. I have no idea when I turned into an idiot, but I actually did. I am a nut bucket, let me tell you.
> 
>  
> 
> The good news is this is a long damn chapter.

Hanzo was woken rather abruptly by loud knocking against the door of his room. He groaned and turned over on the cot, hoping whoever it was would give up and leave. There was a blessed moment of silence and then the knocking returned, louder and more insistent. It was accompanied by a voice as well. 

“Hanzo! Get up!” It was Tracer. Because of course it was.

“I’m unconscious,” Hanzo muttered into his pillow, voice slow and quiet with the lethargy of a hard sleep, “I will not answer the door.”

“I know you can hear me!” She continued, “I know damn well how loud I am! Hanzo!”

He put his pillow on his head. He had grown up with Genji. No one out-stubborned a scion of the Shimada clan. 

“Hanzo! Oh for the love of— Lúcio’s _leavin’!_ ”

That made him crack an eye open. Wait, Lúcio was leaving?

“Do not make me bring a gorilla with a tesla canon to get this door to open! Because I will!”

He sat, up, yawning blearily, took a quick detour to the tiny bathroom attached to the bedroom and cleaned the dried remnants of his self-pleasuring last night with a grimace, put on a plain shirt, and wandered over to the door, frowning at her when it slid open. “Alright,” he said slowly, voice low and rough with sleep, “You have my attention.”

She grinned at him a bit, “Knew I would eventually.”

He rubbed at his eyes. “So was that merely to get me out of bed or were you serious?”

Her expression sobered a bit, “Sadly serious. He’s gotta get back. Back to DJin’ and writin’ and helpin’ people with his own brand a’ good. We knew when we reached out to him and he showed up at our door that it was gonna be a temporary thing. He got the call from his label last night. Time to get back to it, and working behind the scenes like we are, we got no official claim to ‘im. Still, sad to see ‘im go.”

Hanzo nodded slowly, surprised at how genuinely sad he was to hear the younger man would be leaving. While Lúcio’s musical tastes were certainly not his own, he had developed respect for what the musician had created for himself, and what he’d been dedicated to helping this fledgling phoenix of Overwatch achieve. They would be certainly be weaker—and so much more silent—for his absence.

“I suppose not all of us had so little in our lives that we could drop everything to be here,” he acknowledged and Tracer shared a commiserating smile. 

“Get dressed and come on.” She shooed him off and he went back inside and dressed simply, changing out of the clothes he’d slept in. It was not his usual attire, he didn’t feeling like donning his complicated electronic boots or dealing with his usual combat gear. He tied his hair back with a customary ribbon, frowning as the errant lock at his right temple refused to stay back. He blew at it irritably and stepped out.

“Alright. Let’s go. Where is he?”

“Everyone’ll be in the hangar,” She said, setting off, at a clearly restrained trot. “Winston’s spoofing flight credentials for one a’ our unmarked planes. I’m gonna fly ‘im back to Rio and head back here after. Hopefully a simple thing. Take about eleven hours to get there, maybe ‘bout a full day all told once I get back.”

“A long way.”

“Yeah, but I’m kinda selfish, lookin’ forward to extra time to say goodbye and I’m happy Winston’s lettin’ me fly again.”

Hanzo remembered her excitement before and nodded, “At least some joy in a sad parting.”

She smiled at him, knowing, and together they headed for the hangar. As they stepped into the huge space, the echo of voices bounced around in the high ceilings, distorting the sound and creating cacophony. Above it all, Reinhardt’s booming voice carried most clearly, and it was clear they were likely the last to arrive. 

Tracer blinked the last bit of the way over and Hanzo rounded the corner more sedately and approached the group. He saw Winston, Morrison, Genji, Zenyatta, Reinhardt, and Torbjörn all waiting to wish him goodbye. He stepped into the crowd just in time to see Reinhardt sweep the smaller man up clear off the floor in a huge embrace, laughing and beaming at him, Lúcio laughing all the same. “I cannot believe you are leaving!” The giant declared, clearly loathe to let the younger man down. 

Lúcio grinned, “Come on, Big Guy, no way you’re getting’ rid a’ me for good. It ain’t that easy.”

“Good,” Reinhardt decided, and set him down gently, but his large hands only shifts to frame the slighter man’s shoulders. “You are everything I could’ve wished for this once-great organization. I will _miss_ you, my friend.”

Lúcio visibly swallowed and smiled brightly up at the huge German man, “Likewise, Rein. Maybe I’ll write a song about you. Hell I’ve got so many ideas after this I am _itching_ to compose.”

“You and your silly techno music,” Reinhardt teased him, but his eyes lit up, clearly touched and taken with the idea that he’d be so immortalized. 

Morrison rolled his eyes, “Maybe don’t out us just yet. The whole ‘illegal-activity and unsanctioned interference with law enforcement under the banner of a banned Organization’ just might get us into a little trouble.”

Lúcio laughed, “Okay, fair enough. No lyrics then. Hey! Maybe I’ll remix that awful song the big guy likes so much.”

“Ohhh,” Reinhardt made a noise of wonder, clearly interested.

Torbjörn snorted, “Then you’ll both hate it.”

“Sounds like a good compromise,” Tracer said, blinking in to steal a hug. “I’m gonna make sure all the preflight stuff is ready. I’ll see you on board.” She blinked off and Torbjörn stepped over and awkwardly offered his flesh hand. 

“See ya, kid. Yer a real bright spot on things, that’s fer sure. I’m garbage at goodbyes and all that, but I did some tunin’ on yer skates and streamlined things a bit. Bout all the more I could do. Don’t hit any walls, those things’ll just _go_ now.” 

Lúcio laughed and shook his hand before leaning in and stealing a hug from the loudly-protesting engineer. “Gonna miss you too.”

“God, you’re as bad as Reinhardt!”

Hanzo smiled and when Lúcio had released Torbjörn he stepped up and offered a handshake and a gentle bow of acknowledgement. “It was an honor to serve with you. I regret that your situation carries you away from us, but I am happy that you get to return to follow your calling. I wish you the best.”

“Well crap, I can’t follow that,” Lúcio laughed, “Just gimme a hug.” He embraced Hanzo quickly, laughing, the archer rolling his eyes good naturedly before returning it with one arm before the Lúcio stepped back.

“While I am sure your time is short,” Hanzo continued, frowning very faintly, “If you have not said farewell to McCree he will probably be terribly cross to find you gone without a word of farewell.”

“I stopped in and said goodbye to he and the good doctor,” Lúcio assured. “Wouldn’t have done that to him.” He grinned, “I did not want to deal with the hell I’d have caught next time I see you all.”

Hanzo felt something in his chest warm inexplicably at the knowledge that he was considered a part of this group enough that it was unconsciously expected he’d be here. He very much wanted to be.

Genji bowed respectfully to Lúcio as well—and Hanzo would swear his brother dipped his head just a little lower than he did, trying to subtly best him even in this small way, the suborn man—and Zenyatta stepped up next to him, glanced at his respectful student, and offered instead a closed fist towards the young musician.

Lúcio laughed loud and bumped his fist solidly against the Omnic’s hand. “Mad respect, Zen.”

Genji’s shoulders slumped, shaking his head, _“Master.”_

Zenyatta ignored his student, his voice carrying the note of withheld laughter, “Safest travels, my friend. I greatly look forward to the harmony you give to the world and all that you will in the future. Until we meet again.”

Winston stepped up with a tired, sad smile, “Here,” He offered a small device, one of the beacons Overwatch used, the same as the one that had brought him here offered by his brother’s hand. “Perhaps you’ll never use it, and your time with us is over for good, but you are always welcome among us, with us. As far as we’re all concerned, you’re as much a founding member of Overwatch as anyone else.”

Lúcio nodded, smiling, proud of it and serious, understanding the weight of the trust placed in him. “I got it. I’m not gonna let you down.”

Behind them all the plane let out a low drone that increased in frequency as its engines onlined. “Time to go,” Morrison instructed. “Have everything you need?”

“Yeah, all set,” Lúcio nodded, his smiling going sad. “Gonna miss you guys.”

“We’ll miss you as well,” Reinhardt said, hand coming down on the smaller man’s shoulder one last time. 

“Good luck,” Morrison said, and offered him a casual salute of respect. 

After that Lúcio boarded the plane and within minutes Tracer was guiding it off the runway and into the sky, fast disappearing into the gentle clouds above Gibraltar. 

“I need to get back to the command room,” Winston murmured. “Help Athena and Tracer navigate through.”

And that was that.

\--

Hanzo returned to his room and cleaned himself up properly. He deposited his soiled clothing in the laundry chute, showered and cleaned off the grime of travel and washed his hair, scrubbed over his skin till it he felt renewed. He redressed in his usual gear after a short internal debate, unsure if he should wear his electronic boots just around base. At least the air was warm enough to let his top hang open as he preferred it. It had been quite some time since he’d let the twins loose, and letting the sun play along the lines of the tattoo helped keep them docile and helped with his control. Caged and constricted, they would push more insistently at his mind. 

He debated as well wearing his archery glove, but after a cursory check of his quiver he realized he was running low on most of his arrow sets. He’d definite need to construct more chips for sonic arrows and find appropriate supplies to augment a new set of scatter arrows. His bow could use a little maintenance as well. 

A goal in mind he slipped his glove into the inside of his top and left his room, hoping to find Torbjörn somewhere and inquire about tools and a workspace. Normally he would make everything himself, not usually trusting another hand to potentially tamper with his weapon or ammunition, but he imagined the small Swedish engineer might have ideas on how to improve the construction of his weapon and he trusted him not to bungle the production of the electronics for his arrowheads. 

He headed into the machine shop on base and found it empty but for Reinhardt who was doing some routine cleaning of the massive rocket hammer he lifted so easily. In the corner Hanzo saw his Crusader armor stowed on a hangar. 

Reinhardt had no idea where Torbjörn might’ve gone, but his best guess would be to try the command room next. Winston had turned it into half a lab while he’d been the sole occupant of the base, and the engineer had been helping to clean and organize the work the scientist had been doing, helping get the Watchpoint back to something close to normal function. 

He approached quietly through the halls of the base and slowed as he approached the command room and heard voices within. Neither were Torbjörn. 

He stepped into the room, hoping that perhaps one of the people inside might know where to find him and didn’t quite realize what he’d interrupted until it was far too late to back out of the room. The tension was so thick he could pierce it an arrow. 

Dr. Ziegler stood on one side of the command table, arms folded, looking uncomfortable. Morrison stood on the opposite side, frowning and looking like he would rather be _anywhere_ else. For that matter he was _looking_ anywhere else. Not meeting the doctor’s eyes. Both clearly marked his entrance but they were too embedded in whatever unhappiness they were talking about to stop. 

“—I hadn’t seen you since I arrived. I only wanted to see how you were doing.” Dr. Ziegler was standing her ground, her tone light but carrying the faintest notes of curiosity and reproach.

“Yeah, well, what you see is what you get,” Morrison replied, gruff, his own tone baldly curt and colder than Hanzo had heard him sound before. 

“Jack,” She continued, “At least look at me when you speak. Do I not deserve even that much?”

76’s sigh was ten-ton heavy and looked up at her, blue eyes angry, “Fine. I’m looking at you now. Better?”

“There’s no need to be rude.”

“You’re right, sorry,” Morrison agreed, but his voice was tired. “Look, I need to go. Lots to work on concerning this Junker lead while Winston helps Tracer fly. It’s… good to see you again, Mercy.”

He turned and made his rapid departure, leaving only Hanzo and Dr. Ziegler remaining. She stood quietly where she had been, her arms crossed, her face tired, and concern pinching between her eyes. 

“That seemed,” he hesitated, voice quiet, “Odd for him.”

Dr. Ziegler did not seem particularly cross that he’d seen the whole thing. “Perhaps not the best conversation to walk in on, hmm?” She was faintly chastising, but without any real censure. 

“Is something going on?” He asked, because while it was not his business to interfere, he remembered the stories of Overwatch splitting apart from the inside when it was disbanded years ago. If there was risk already of something similar happening, he wanted to know now rather than later. 

The idea of this newborn group of friends and comrades splitting already made something unpleasant ache in his chest.

But she only sighed and shook her head, “No, not really. This is not entirely unexpected. I don’t know what I was hoping for.” She looked over at Hanzo, and for a moment her eyes looked very old. “There was…” She paused, finding the right words, “There was someone I could not save, years ago, right before the official word came down from on high to disband. Even though Jack begged me to help. Even though I tried my damnedest. I could not save a life.” Her voice wavered at the end but she continued. “That is all Jack Morrison remembers when he looks at me now.”

It hardly seemed fair, but Hanzo understood associating people with memories, even unfairly, as an act of self-preservation. “I hope he will realize his folly.”

“Perhaps one day,” She smiled at him and Hanzo had a feeling he’d been caught and they weren’t entirely talking about Jack there. “But… I do understand. It is my lowest moment, I think. What I did. That failure. I can’t really forget it either.”

Hanzo wanted to ask, was curious to know, but it was ultimately not his business. Overwatch now seemed to be about moving beyond the past. It certainly was for him. He would be a hypocrite if he did not try and allow others to have that same boon. 

There was something bothering him a bit though. 

“Not to question you, doctor, but if you’re here then who’s in the infirmary watching McCree?”

Dr. Ziegler’s smile lit up, parts happy, mischievous, and so very knowing. “Well no one is watching him. He’s a big boy, he can watch himself. _Especially_ since he’s been discharged and doesn’t need full supervision anymore.”

Hanzo straightened, all thoughts of finding tools and making arrows leaving him. “Is he? He’s out?”

She nodded, “He’ll get more benefit from being back on his feet and moving around than being cooped up in bed at this point. Perhaps not one hundred percent yet, but going forward that’ll be on his body, and he’s always bounced back.” She tapped her chin, “I still need to analyze the blood work in greater detail and use the remnants of the clothing of his that was torn up. See if I can find any lingering trace of the chemical and what it was.”

“Do you know where he went?” Hanzo asked, trying not to sound as urgent as it felt. It was a small Watchpoint. There were only so many places he could be.

She laughed softly, “Knowing Jesse, I believe you’ll find him doing his favorite thing in the world.”

\--

Hanzo stepped into the practice gallery and immediately picked up on the smooth drawl of Jesse’s English as his brother’s own strongly accented words. He hesitated, standing outside the range, not sure he wanted to interrupt but wanting, _needing_ to see McCree up and hale and whole. 

There was no loud crack of gunfire or the whistle of shuriken in the air, only the sound of voices over the ambient noise of the training bots moving around their programmed routes and actions. 

He should turn and leave, he knew. These were friends and companions and they didn’t deserve to have their words eavesdropped. But old habits were difficult to break, and he’d learned very quickly while on his own the value of keeping eyes and ears open, of knowing and information. 

The conflict and his own desire to step into the room kept him paralyzed.

Hanzo stayed outside the door and listened. 

“Jesus Christ,” McCree complained without any real anger, “I do not remember my gun bein’ this damn heavy.”

“You were very badly hurt,” Genji’s reply came back, “It is not so strange to think you’ll have to build your energy and strength back up. I am almost certain Angela probably gave you a talk about just that.”

“Maybe,” The cowboy grouched and there was a faint jingling sound followed by a ratcheting series of clicks—bullets being slotted into his Peacekeeper—“But I ain’t gotta like it.” There were the sound of six shots that followed and more cursing. “You tell anyone that it took me more than one shot to kill these trainin’ bots an’ we’re gonna have a problem.”

Genji took the words for the jest they were, “Be glad you can even wield your firearm. You almost lost that limb as well.”

“Which is why I’m almost positive Angela put ya up to babysittin’ me. Am I warm?” More clinking and clicks as the Peacekeeper was reloaded. 

“There are a number of people who would be rather put off if we found you in a bad way out here, Angela only one amongst them.”

Hanzo’s mouth thinned. He was definitely one of them. 

“Ain’t you so fuckin’ sweet,” McCree griped, tone biting and sarcastic and sighed. “Sorry, Genji. Ain’t tryin’ a’ take my temper out on you.”

“I do not mind,” Genji confided quietly, “You are serving as a fair distraction for me as well.”

“Let me guess. That Omnic’ a’ yours.” McCree was, as ever, a perfect shot, even without bullets. 

“I am concerned about these Junkers that Winston is looking to unearth,” The cyborg said. “Such blatant anti-Omnic sentiment. I do not imagine for an instant that my Master will sit on the sidelines for anything, but he will be the most likely target should we clash with them. I worry.”

McCree laughed of all things, “I am never gonna get tired of Blackwatch’s little hate machine all crazy for that monk of all things. Please keep talking. This is making my day.”

Genji sighed, “You are not helping.”

“Oh I am not tryin’ to, believe me. I am pretty damn sure you let me get shot once because you didn’t want to leave cover at the time. Finally, karma comes back around. I’ve been patient.” 

The younger Shimada didn’t rise to the teasing, staying quiet for a long moment, “I was not a happy man during my tenure in Blackwatch, McCree. I did not care much for your life or the lives of many of my comrades. Not the way I should have. I treated you as tools for my own means, the same as Overwatch considered me a tool for theirs. I am truly sorry.”

Hanzo heard McCree’s follow-up chuckle. “You got nothin’ to apologize for. I get ya, Genji. ‘Sides, yer workin’ to make up for it all now, aincha?”

“I am trying.”

“’An’ I was serious anyway. Watchin’ you get twisted up about that Omnic is payback enough, believe me.” McCree’s tone was nothing but laughter. 

“Hmph,” Genji huffed, unimpressed, “If that’s the way you want it then I can do the same.” He called out then, voice raised, “I know you’re there, Hanzo! May as well come out.”

Wincing faintly with embarrassment, Hanzo stepped out into the training gallery, into plain view of the two occupants. Genji had certainly not dulled any after all the years apart, that was for certain. 

McCree’s whole face lit up at the sight of him and he grinned bright and happy, “Hanzo! We were jus’ talkin’ bout you earlier. Was hopin’ to get to see ya.” 

Helplessly, Hanzo found himself smiling back as he came to stand with them. “Likewise. I am glad to see you up and around. I was getting used to not having to look up to see you.”

McCree chuckled, “Me too, Partner, me too. Got a lot of work to do gettin’ my gun arm back in shape again, but I am damn glad to be back at it.”

Hanzo’s expression grew a bit sharp, a few teeth flashing, “Good. You do if we’re going to have that rematch.”

The cowboy’s head fell back as he laughed, long and loud and surprised and slung his flesh arm around Hanzo’s shoulders, still gripping the Peacekeeper against his clothed arm, large and warm against his bare side. “Darlin’ you are _on_.”

Genji looked between them slowly, “I cannot help but wonder who this stranger wearing my brother’s face is.”

It was a dark sentiment; one Hanzo had dwelt upon more than once since he’d learned of Genji surviving all these years. But his brother meant the words only in bemusement and meant no ill by it and Hanzo found himself laughing softly in spite of everything. Not even dark memories of Genji could bring down his joy at seeing McCree finally up.

“C’mon now, Genji. Hanzo’s loosened up a lot since I met ‘im,” McCree’s grin was toothy and he leaned faintly against the archer’s shoulder. “He’s even more than a halfway decent shot now. Lots of growth.”

Hanzo snorted, “Who was it that needed more than one bullet per training bot a few minutes ago, hmm?”

“Oh, you pickin’ a fight with me?” McCree challenged, eyes alight and grinning broadly. “Maybe we should rematch right now. Get it done while you have half a chance to beat me.”

Hanzo matched his expression fierce with joy. “I am going to make you eat every single one of those words, Cowboy.”

Genji shook his head, “You are both mad. I’ll keep score. It should be more than fair. I don’t like either of you right now.”

Hanzo pushed McCree off him towards the rest of the gallery, and the cowboy walked backwards, laughing at him, Genji trailing behind. 

It felt like things were good again. In that moment, Hanzo was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit torn about working Lucio out in this chapter. Its a little abrupt, but he was never meant to hang around forever and the character cast is becoming a little unwieldy if they're all in close quarters. Its tough. 
> 
> One of my big regrets in this story is that my initial goal and intention for it was so much different than what it became. If I'd had grand plans since the start I would've worked him in more naturally as I've been trying to do for most of the others. Alas, I did not. 
> 
> Don't worry though. We'll see them again, just like we'll see the others we've had to say goodbye to!


	26. Build a Better Mousetrap...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you can get us outta this damn city all quiet like then I’ll blow the top off any damn thing you want.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize that this chapter has followed so slowly after the previous one. I had big plans to get up two chapters before November began that just... did not happen. The short version is that someone I was committed to giving years of my life decided that they would be happier if I weren't in theirs. It's... more or less killed my inspiration to create. I've been in the doldrums now for over a month. I'm not begging for sympathy or anything just trying to explain. 
> 
> Now, its not like this story is dying. It's just been a struggle to make words happen. The point of telling you all this is that to try and get my groove back I'm going to be fully committing to NaNoWriMo this year for a personal project I've wanted to write for a long time. I'm hoping it rekindles things a little. That means I'm not going to be working on fanwork at all November (this update aside). I'll try and get things going again with some semblance of regularity come December. 
> 
> Thanks guys. This chapter is a mess. I rewrote large chunks of it twice and it is not the chapter I wish I'd been able to create, but I think the next one will make up for it. I hope.
> 
> LAST TIME:
> 
> Lucio sadly left the fledgling remade Overwatch, but the team hopes they'll see him again one day. Winston, Mei, Morrison, and Athena commit themselves to locating the two Junkers that could be their next link to Talon. Hanzo meanwhile caught on to some awkward tension between Dr. Ziegler and Commander Morrison and could only hope it didn't signal trouble coming. But he was happy to find McCree well on his way to recovery at last and found the gunman in the training gallery, talk of a rematch coming quickly.

They spent a quiet week in Gibraltar. 

Winston spent most of his days with Athena, Morrison and Dr. Zhou assisting, attempting to find where the Junkers with links to Talon had gone. The only thing that brought the simian scientist out from the labs was peanut butter. Mei ventured out for tea and food and on occasion got caught up talking with people, her nature sweet but more than a touch absent-minded. 

Torbjörn dragged Reinhardt around, the both of them attempting to make some sort of headway in understanding what was happening with the Bastion unit they’d recovered. The thing was harmless—at least as much as one could be harmless with no less than three automatic weapons built into their body—but the Swedish engineer couldn’t figure out how it had survived so many years unscathed and what had happened to wipe out its programming so solidly. 

Zenyatta attempted to commune with it multiple times, but confessed having issue with what the Bastion unit was actually saying. Its chirps, beeps, boops, and everything in between were less of a language and more along the lines of emotive sound. In the Crisis they had interfaced directly with each other and the God program controlling them in combat, Torbjörn had explained, they hadn’t needed expressive language when commands were given and received wirelessly. 

Either way, the Bastion unit continued to be cooperative and yet inscrutable.

McCree said he was putting money on it being all the bird. 

Hanzo spent his time in the training gallery, matching his aim and wits against McCree and, occasionally, Tracer or Genji, when the cyborg could be pried from his Omnic Master’s side, that is. On one occasion he’d found Zenyatta there alone and had taken the Omnic up on his good-natured request to spar. 

It turned out Omnic Energy interacted with skin like a solid object when manipulated with the right force. The bruises were dark and ugly and Genji had taken one look at him as hobbled into the mess hall that evening and said, “Ah, so that’s where he was today. Careful, brother, he likes to play harmless. He’s not.”

Hanzo only grumbled, learning the hard way. 

Dr. Ziegler spoke several times about making preparations to return to the Siberian front, but something always seemed to keep her in Gibraltar. Burns on Reinhardt’s arm from a Rockethammer misfire, bad migraines when Morrison fell asleep in his visor again, minor scratching after the Bastion Unit’s bird heckled Torbjörn , Hanzo’s bruised skin and pride—she never seemed to make it off base.

“She totally wants to stay,” Tracer told he and McCree one day at the training range. 

“She’s looking for a reason,” Genji agreed, nodding along. 

Hanzo had smiled and said, “Well, weren’t we all?”

It was all only a calm moment of reprieve Hanzo knew, soon enough they’d be thrown back in the thick of it, and in all truth he would not want to wait and be idle forever. But for now, for this moment, he treasured the calm hours.

Six days after their return, sure enough, Winston called everyone into the command room, grim and tense, Morrison rigid, and Dr. Zhou nearly vibrating with a big smile and excited energy. 

“So, after spending the week looking into possible leads and contacts, we believe we’ve discovered who our mystery Junkers are,” The scientist began by way of greeting. 

“That was mighty fast,” McCree said. “You sure you got the right fellas?”

Winston gave him an exhausted look, and pulled up a monitor and turned it on. “Athena, BBC News please.”

The screen flickered to life and sound blared from the speakers, sirens and the drone of a helicopter, a British news anchor shouting over the din to give byplay on what was going on. “—Hour Two of the chase. All of London is on alert to catch the two thieves who’ve _stolen_ the Crown Jewels of the Throne—“ 

The scene was overhead as an army of cop cars barreled after a motorcycle through the night. Two mug shots appeared at the bottom of the screen—A slim, half-mad blond who looked as though he’d recently come out of an explosion and a giant wearing a faceless, black-eyed mask.

“Yeah,” Morrison said flatly, turning the broadcast off. “We’re pretty damn sure.”

“We have to move on this,” Winston said, tired, “Pretty much immediately. This is not how I wanted to locate them.”

_“Beggars cannot be choosers,”_ Athena reminded him. 

Winston’s sigh was ten-ton, “Thank you, Athena.”

“So we need to less figure out a plan and more just move,” 76 said, frowning as Athena kept the feed from the news updated with information. “I’d really like to just shove the team on the plane and figure out a plan of attack in transit or on arrival.”

“But for that we need a team,” Winston agreed. “I’m happy to continue to coordinate and I have a feeling Morrison will want to lead from the field?” He glanced at 76 who favored him with a wholly unimpressed look. “Right.”

“Mei will be accompanying the team to help ID the Junkers we’re after.” Morrison said, “King’s Row is a…” He hedged a moment, “A risky place.”

“An absolute hell hole,” McCree interjected.

“Ugh, I want to say it ain’t that bad,” Tracer pouted, “But it really is in a lotta ways, yeah.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea that the team who served in the Uprising participate, is what Morrison is trying to get at,” Winston said, “And I agree. King’s Row has proven to have a long and unforgiving memory. I don’t know if I want to risk them being identified when we’re on another op.”

“Yeah, can’t argue with that I suppose,” Torbjörn agreed.

“Speak for yourself!” Reinhardt frowned, crossing his arms, “I can do subtle, Jack.”

Morrison raised an eyebrow at him and didn’t even bother to answer. Reinhardt only pouted at him harder but didn’t fight. 

“’Fraid I may have to go,” Tracer said, “I’m your ride.”

“Maybe,” Winston replied, considering, “I’m not entirely sure what we’re going to do about a landing zone yet.”

“Big unmarked plane is fairly noticeable,” Morrison agreed.

“Oh I can take care a’ that too!” Tracer chirped. “I ‘ave a friend who runs the local airport outside a’ town for all the little puddle jumpers and private planes. She’s an older lady, used to do trick flying and stunts. She can’t anymore so we used to bond over not bein’ in the air and tea. She’ll probably be glad enough to hear I’m flying. I bet she’ll let us put wheels down for a bit while we’re there.”

“Then find that out _now_ , Oxton,” Morrison directed, “We need to know that before takeoff.”

Tracer saluted and blinked off.

“That leaves the rest of the ground team,” Winston finished.

“Well I’m definitely in,” McCree asserted. “Been enough time with my feet up. I ain’t sittin’ this one out.”

“Alright, so Morrison, Tracer, Mei, McCree,” Winston counted off. “We need two more probably for a standard strike team.”

“I would like to assist if I can,” Hanzo said, but glanced over at Genji uncertainly, trying and failing to weigh what the cyborg was thinking or feeling through that blank visor. “But I know that Genji and Zenyatta tend to come as a working pair, so—“

“I would like to join,” Genji interrupted him. “But I want Master Zenyatta to stay. I do not wish to have him assisting on this operation.”

Hanzo blinked, taken by surprise and the cigar hanging from McCree’s lips went slack in surprise. 

Zenyatta himself straightened, clearly taken aback by the sudden strange request. “I do not understand,” Zenyatta said slowly, mechanical voice lacking all inflection. “I wish to be of help, is that not why we returned here with your old friends and comrades?”

Genji huffed softly, “Do not play stupid, you are too smart for that, Master. You know I did not wish to endanger you like this.”

“Genji,” Zenyatta’s voice grew firm, steel within as he was steel without. “We talked about this a great deal. I had thought the matter was settled.”

“We never agreed,” Genji said, stubborn. 

“I do not know if I will be of help here or to these people, but I wish to try.” Zenyatta spoke with a gentled hope, and Hanzo could hear the sound of something oft repeated of late. 

“It’s too dangerous. Anti-Omnic Junkers and in King’s Row of all places?” Genji shook his head, “Please, Master, I understand your wish but the thought of it scares me.”

“This is not the first time I have set foot in that city,” Zenyatta pointed out, unwavering. “I visited the monument to Mondatta when it was first erected and I wish to visit it again.”

“Right,” Genji snapped, voice low, “And we know what happened to him!”

There was utter silence except for Mei’s soft gasp and Genji seemed to remember all at once there was an audience. Zenyatta’s back was straight with shock and a soft static sound escaped his voice box not unlike a noise of disbelief. Then slowly the Omnic nodded and stood. “Very well, Genji. You have made your point. To spare you this discord, I will bow out.” He shifted away from the table and took steps to leave the room.

“Wait, Master—“ Genji called out, instant regret in his body and voice. 

“I wish the team luck in finding your Junkers,” Zenyatta said. “But if you will excuse me I believe I have a great deal to meditate on.”

“Zenyatta, please,” Genji begged, and the Omnic tilted his head at his name, but said nothing and left.

“Well,” Morrison said slowly, “I guess that’s that, then. Everyone to the hangar. We need to get there _yesterday_.”

\--

A hectic three hours later they were touched down in Kings Row. The trip had been a silent and tense and other than communication between Tracer in the cockpit and Winston from the Watchpoint there hadn’t been a word. Hanzo himself took his own quiet solace from McCree’s larger bulk sitting next to him, the gunman a welcome thing back in the fray, one he found he trusted implicitly. McCree himself dozed quietly, hat over his eyes, arms folded across his chest. 

Genji sat across from them, silent and rigid and miserable. Hanzo could see the echoes of the disagreement from the war room lingering still, in the tense and unhappy posture Genji had as he sat. Even now, as the group assembled, waiting for orders, he saw the subtle tells of his brother’s distress, greater even than the mechanical facelessness of the cyborg he’d become. 

“And you’re sure we’ll find them here?” McCree asked.

_“About as certain as I can be,”_ Winston said. _“This is where law enforcement lost them. Athena hasn’t picked up anything more from police radio and the country has been on high alert. There’s no way they slipped out and left the city, let alone the country.”_

“Talon could’ve retrieved them, if they were working together long term,” Genji pointed out. 

_“Okay, also possible. But I’m still betting they’re in city limits. Gone to ground until it’s safer to move. We’re going to find them before that happens. We can’t operate under any other assumption until we know for sure anyway.”_

“Fair ‘nuff,” McCree agreed. “So what’s the plan? Where do we start to flush ‘em out?”

“Not the goal this time,” Morrison said. “We need to find them but we’re going to try _not_ to spook them. We don’t need these two pulling a runner on us as well as the cops, and the last thing we need to be doing is competing with British law enforcement for two fugitives.”

“So what _is_ the plan?” Genji asked, voice low and impatient. So unhappy. 

“We want them comfortable until we’ve got them in control. Should be familiar enough maneuver from your Blackwatch days, McCree and Shimada. Well, Shimada the younger.”

“Ah,” Genji and McCree said in one voice. “Bait.”

“Right. We’re gonna lure them to us and close the trap. Once they’re ours they’ll be a hell of a lot easier to handle,” Morrison agreed. “Mei’s even got a suggestion for us.”

She nodded eagerly and pushed her glasses up. “The blonde one was very concerned with a few things I could take away, and he seemed to be the one making the choices.” She ticked off on her fingers, “Explosions, anti-Omnic sentiment, and doing, ah, what did he call it? Legit business. I don’t really think we can do anything with the Omnic prejudice, not safely anyway.”

Genji shifted, hands fisted at his sides. Hanzo wondered if he should’ve come at all. 

“—But the other two we can use!” Dr. Zhou finished, bouncing a bit.

“That’ll be your bait,” Morrison said. “Bombs and the chance to do it without breaking the law will be how you lure him in. Promise them a safe way out of the city and that’s how we secure them here. Once we’ve got them it’ll be back to Gibraltar for questioning. Rather not do that where the police can find us.”

“Yeah, because extracting wanted criminals is low profile,” McCree needled. “But alright, seems straightforward enough. How we gonna do this? They know Mei’s face, can’t have her within sight of ‘em or that’ll have ‘em hightailin’ it for sure.”

“Genji and Tracer are our eyes and perimeter on this. Both of them look a little too… obvious to not attract attention, but they can move and keep well ahead of anything coming down on us. I’ll be coordinating with Winston from here and Mei will remain with me. She’ll be our ticket to IDing them, and we’ll be able to defend the plane and once we get the Junkers back here we can help close the trap, so to speak.” He glanced at her, “She doesn’t look it but she’s far from harmless. No offense, Mei.” 

“Oh! None taken! I wish I didn’t have to be so threatening.”

“That’s not what I—Never mind.” 76 shook his head, “And last that leaves—“

“Oh boy,” McCree said flatly and elbowed Hanzo, “We get the _fun_ job.”

\--

_“The Fox and Bear has been the criminal underbelly’s hub for as long, and longer, than Overwatch has even existed.”_ Morrison’s voice instructed in their comms. _“If you’re looking for a criminal—or trying to attract one—this’ll be the place to start.”_

Hanzo could see why. The place was located on a back street next to the Eberle and Sons’ brewery. At the front it was a fairly normal pub but if you went in the back way there was a path down into a second bar in the basement, hidden and out of sight. Hard to know it was even there unless you were looking for it. Anti-Omnic graffiti was splashed on the walls of the street and he remembered seeing they were a stone’s throw from Underworld in the dossier Winston had prepared. 

He followed McCree inside, down the stairs and into the dimly lit bar room. The air was hazy with smoke and had the sour, ashy smell of old cigarette and cigar smoke. McCree’s opaque puffs from his own blended right into the miasma of the room around them. “This may be a mistake,” He murmured, voice low so only McCree could catch it. “I might have the wrong reputation for this.” He’d turned enough terrible people in for bounties and left just as many for dead. If he were recognized now—

“Naw, partner,” McCree assured, keeping his eyes ahead, scanning the room from under the brim of his hat. “We’re lookin’ to seem shady but we want ‘em to believe we ain’t gonna be doin’ nothin’ illegal. Yer just about perfect. Good for this too.”

Hanzo huffed, a reluctant smile pulling at his mouth, “ _McCree._ ”

The cowboy huffed a laugh and winked at him, “Follow my lead, Darlin’. I got this.”

He did, Hanzo noticed immediately. He was completely at ease as he crossed the room, relaxed and unconcerned, not bothering to look at anyone as he did. Hanzo only followed, trying to do the same, fighting the impulse to scan the room for threats or their targets. 

McCree only seemed perfectly natural as he slid onto a stool at the bar, reaching for a peanut and crunching on it idly, Hanzo settling next to him more gingerly, alighting on the seat as gracefully as a crane landing. 

The bartender came by, a severe looking middle-aged gentleman with a burn scar on his chin. “Haven’t seen either of you here before. Not the usual place we get fresh faces.”

Hanzo could hear the twin notes of suspicion and reproach in his voice. McCree smiled at him, smooth and disarming. “We’ll we sure ain’t from round here, partner.” His accent thickened slightly, playing up their foreign status. “Just in town lookin’ to find an, ah, _like-minded_ individual. Lookin’ to add a little, oh, _light and excitement_ to my life, so to say.”

“That a fact,” The bartender said, unimpressed. “This ain’t really a great place to meet people.”

“Oh, I dunno about that.” McCree puffed his cigar, “Gonna be leavin’ soon. Have to be a brief involvement, you know how these things are.”

“Hmm,” The Bartender made a noncommittal sound. “Well good luck findin’ what you’re looking for. What can I get you while you’re searchin'?”

“Whisky on the rocks,” McCree said. “And whatever my friend here wants.”

“Sake, hot,” Hanzo said, eyes sharp, meeting the man’s gaze with his own. 

When the bartender turned away to get their drinks McCree murmured to him, low and soft, “I thought hot sake was a cold weather drink?”

“This country is miserable and cold and I don’t think I trust the quality of their rice wine to care if the aroma or flavor gets lost,” Hanzo murmured back. “I didn’t know you knew anything about it.”

He shrugged, his postured relaxed and uncaring but the cowboy’s eyes were careful, flickering in and out of his peripherals and he favored Hanzo with a teasing smile. “You know that sake’s not half bad, but I prefer a little bite to my liquor.” He nipped his teeth in Hanzo’s direction playfully. 

“How predictable. Such an unsophisticated taste,” Hanzo said flatly, but he couldn’t keep the laughter from his eyes, teasing right back.

_“Oh my God, can you two not flirt in our ears? Thanks,”_ Morrison grouched and Hanzo would’ve sword he heard Dr. Zhou’s soft voice behind him somewhere say ‘I think it’s kinda cute…”

The bartender came back with their drinks and set a glass in front of McCree and a porcelain container and small heated cup before Hanzo. McCree slid a set of bills across the bar—far more than their drinks had cost—and grinned at the man. “Thanks, Barkeep. Appreciate the good service.”

Hanzo watched him take the money and walk to the other end of the bar to another set of patrons, speaking quietly to them and glancing occasionally back in their direction. McCree settled in, leaning on the countertop and sipping his whisky with a soft sound of appreciation. “What are we—?” Hanzo began. 

“Now we wait, Darlin,” McCree murmured. “A good trap has bait and we are all kinds of baited right now. If those two are still in King’s Row after all that damn hubbub this is the place ya start. Blackwatch learned real fast you catch more flies with honey. Makes it all the sweeter when ya eat ‘em too.”

Hanzo made a face, “What an awful metaphor. No wonder Overwatch fell. This job is terrible.”

McCree chuckled, “Hey, seems pretty good from where I’m sittin’. I get to sit here and drink tonight while we see if we lure in any bites.” He raised his glass to Hanzo, a teasing grin on his mouth. “Jus’ be careful. A sleepin’ spider don’t catch nothin’.”

Hanzo snorted and rolled his eyes, but smiled at the jest all the same. 

\--

Despite the cowboy’s words they both drank sparingly as the hours wore later and later. Neither wanted to risk impairment, knowing the people they were attempting to lure in. Every so often calls came in from Genji and Tracer, reporting comings and goings, giving the periodic all-clear. Morrison and Winston were silent presences, 76 waiting without sound and Winston running constant surveillance of the news and police chatter, making sure that their targets hadn’t been picked up from under their noses. 

Tracer spent a few attempts trying to tease some sort of conversation from Genji, but the cyborg remained silent, responding with monoword answers only when the question pertained to their mission. He was diligent about calling out potential targets, looking for a slight blonde with a larger second. Mei shot down all of them— _“That one’s not missing limbs” “He’s not wearing a mask” “I think that one might actually be a woman. I can’t tell from here.”_ — 

It was easily past the midnight hour when a massive form moved behind them and a giant of a man wearing a black mask sat on a creaking barstool next to Hanzo without a single word. To their other slide a slight, skinny blond hopped up next to McCree, his eyes manic and intense, leaning forward to size them up. 

“So,” he spoke with an Australian accent, eyes squinting between them, smelling as much of smoke as McCree, “Someone tells _me_ that _you two fellas_ are needin’ a little somethin’ to ah, _boom_ a little, eh?”

Hanzo eyed the massive wall of a human next to him, the giant peering down at him through an impassive black mask, the leather molded to mimic the face of a boar. He matched stares—or at least thought he did—with the hulking, silent man, trusting McCree on his other side to deal with the talkative one. The cowboy didn’t disappoint. 

“Word travels fast,” He said, voice wholly unsurprised, pleased even. “Well, my companion and I here are having a little trouble with a, hmm, an obstacle that just won’t stop bein’ in the way. It’s mighty irritatin’ an’ we had a friend who pointed us here, said we might be able to find someone to help with our little issue. Someone who could help use add a little fire and a little force.”

In their ears Mei was in a frenzy, _“How did they get in? We didn’t see them go in!”_

The blond Australian grinned, “Sounds like you might be speakin’ my language, mate. I got enough fire an’ enough force to make just about anythin’ a non-issue.”

“That so,” McCree asked without questioning. “Hmm, ain’t I seen you two on the news tonight though? Not sure you two are fer me. This ain’t anything illegal, strictly speakin’.”

Hanzo didn’t break gaze with the huge hog-faced man, but he heard the bald interest in the blond’s voice when he spoke. “Oh? Legit, eh? Now ya got me curious, how’s someone go about somethin’ legit when lookin’ for firepower?” 

Impatience too, Hanzo heard in his voice. He’d nearly dropped the whole pretense. 

“The task ain’t against the law,” McCree drawled slowly, doing a damn good job at feigning reluctance into his tone. “But damn goin’ through lawful channels to get a demolitions expert is a right pain in my ass. Much rather do it this way.”

“Why not get the goods and do it yourself?” The huge, masked man asked, voice low and gravelly, laced through with suspicion. 

“What? Me?” McCree laughed, “I ain’t got no damn clue how to use that shit, an’ probably kill m’self tryin’. Much rather jus’ come to an accord with a few enterprisin’ gentlemen.”

“Look, mate,” The blond nearly interrupted, voice fast and nervous. “My friend an’ I here are in a bit a’ hot water. If you can get us outta this damn city all quiet like then I’ll blow the top off any damn thing you want.”

Hanzo risked a glance to his side and saw McCree appearing to size up the other man with a slow considering look before finally a slow smile touched his mouth. “Partner, I think you an’ I are gonna work together jus’ fine. We can getcha outta the city no problem.”

“Well then,” The blond held out his hand, “Jamison Fawkes, at your service. But you can call me Junkrat.”

\--

King’s Row was winding and full of alleys and side roads, so much so that getting them out of the city to the airport was almost laughably simple. Hanzo almost expected the other shoe to drop. Genji and Tracer called route and directions to them from ahead, making sure to take them on the clearest path. It wasn’t long before they were moving onto the tarmac.

The huge man—Roadhog, Hanzo had learned he was called—made low, dissatisfied noises, and he could see the distrust and doubt in the curl of a meaty fist and a twitchy shift of the mask as it looked around constantly. Checking for threats. Hanzo had a feeling he was used to being the biggest threat in any given room. 

He also had a feeling that he’d find out exactly how proficient the man was with that hook before this night was over. Animals retaliated when they realized they were trapped. He had a feeling boars, or at least this one, was no exception. 

“Oh, now this is fancy, mate!” Junkrat hadn’t stopped talking the entire way back. A steady and constant flow of words, most of them empty and meaningless that Hanzo didn’t bother keeping up with. McCree did deftly, offering no information of value, only dropping in words here and there to prompt more conversation and keep the Australian junker distracted. “Your own jet. All sneaky-like sittin’ here. Yer a right lifesaver, mate.”

“Oh it’s no trouble. Yer gonna be helpin’ me out after all. We can talk more about what I need from ya on the trip outta here. Ain’t keen on spendin’ more time in this cold damn country than I have to.”

_“Oh I heard that, ya wanker,”_ Tracer said over comms. _“Like your miserable desert is any better.”_

Junkrat laughed wildly though, like McCree had said something incredibly funny. Hanzo wondered if the laughter was like a nervous tick. 

“I don’t like this,” Roadhog droned. 

“Oh relax,” Junkrat waved him off, “You worry about everything.”

“Jus’ take a seat inside an’ we’ll see about take off, gettin’ you outta England.”

“Cheers!” Junkrat agreed, walking on board without worry, Roadhog following behind. 

McCree nodded at Hanzo, his flesh hand going to his peacekeeper just as Hanzo slipped the Stormbow slowly from his shoulder. They stepped up, weapons forward, ready to close their trap. Inside Junkrat had just caught sight from Morrison inside, his Helix rifle drawn.

“Hi,” 76 growled. 

Almost faster than Hanzo’s eye could follow, Roadhog shifted, pushing Junkrat behind him and hurling the barbed hook forward, the chain rattling as it surged out in a deadly straight line.

A wall of ice shot up from the plane floor from nowhere, the hook embedding in the frosty surface, protecting Morrison from the throw. 

Roadhog growled and the wall shattered, his hook clattering to the floor. 

Mei stood, her endothermic blaster pointed out. She grinned brightly at the both of them, Junkrat’s mouth hanging open. “Hiya!”

“Oh,” Junkrat swore softly, “Well bugger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man I'm tired. At least it was like 4600 words.


	27. Like a rat in a... you know what, never mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat looked a little like he’d been hit by a bus. 
> 
> Or a gorilla.
> 
> Which—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, I'm alive. Made it through the holidays and everything, though I certainly took my sweet ass time, didn't I? I hope everyone's end of year was good and that your 2018 will be far and above better than your 2017! Happy fuckin' new year. 
> 
> So the good news about the hiatus is that beyond just the big bullet points this whole fic is now completely outlined in detail. We can start pushing towards the end. Holy shit. (not quite in sight, but there's a fucking clear ass map now at least, crazy)
> 
> Bad news is this chapter is a little shorter than I wanted, my usually length tries to be at least 2k words. So, sorry about that... But I think it might be worth it. We'll see. 
> 
> Last time:
> 
> Overwatch mobilized in an emergency situation to take two Junkers, Junkrat and Roadhog into custody, knowing they're linked to Talon. They managed to track the junkers to King's Row, where Hanzo and McCree go in and lure them out. Mission successful, the group headed back to Gibraltar with their prizes, hoping they might have something to say to help them put a stop to whatever it is Talon has been working on...

“Hey, hey!” Junkrat protested as he was pushed into a holding cell after the Hog. “Easy on the harness!” He whined. “This is genuine kangaroo leather. Do you know how hard it is to get kangaroo leather that’s not irradiated?” He straightened the straps with a huff. 

Hog only made a low grunt, but Hanzo followed the subtle shift of the mask as the giant checked the room. The area outside the cell was nearly full. 76 and Winston—who had just arrived—stood in front of the lockup, Mei with them, her blaster ready, so far the best deterrent they’d found for dealing with their guests. Genji stood behind Zenyatta—the latter was watching the two men in the cell with curiosity—but the cyborg was watching his Omnic Master more than the two junkers, the green line of his visor sliding helplessly to the back of the monk’s head. 

McCree leaned against the wall on the far side, hat tilted down, but Hanzo could see the sharp eyes flickering beneath the brim, keeping track of things. There was a large tear in the sleeve of his shirt, the side that wasn’t semi protected by the serape, bleeding sluggishly. 

“You should go have Dr. Ziegler look at that,” Hanzo murmured, leaning next to him. 

McCree snorted, “Darlin’ I walk in there havin’ so recently walked out, that doc’s gonna kill me herself.”

Hanzo smiled faintly, “Perhaps. She has proven formidable.” He glanced back over to where 76 and Winston were squaring off with the junkers. “I suppose it’s good at leas that they both went quietly.”

McCree barked a hoarse laugh, “Partner there weren’t nothin’ quiet about that.” He hand brushed his abrasion. “The blond one was fairly docile, sure, didn’t put up much of a fight, but I don’t think he ever stopped talkin’. Big guy never said a word but damn did that stupid hook hurt. I mean he tried to get out _four damn times_. Got pretty close that last time too. Damn that shit stings.” 

Hanzo let his gaze return to their two captives, seeing the faint traces of frost melting slowly the black leather of the Hog’s mask. That last attempt of his had been a close thing. “Well,” he began slowly and let a smile hide in the corners of his mouth, “Then they just went quietly in different ways.” 

McCree laughed through his teeth, but his shoulders relaxed. “Yeah, I s’pose that’s true.” 

Off to the side Torbjörn was staring at the collection of explosive contraband they’d pulled off the two. The massive hook and chain as well as a heavy scrapgun were sitting there, but also from the blond, a heavy tire with an engine and spiked treads, some sort of fragmentation launcher, a collection of exploding ammo built into innocuous balls, more exploding ammo, a collection of scrap parts, some concussive mines, more ammo, a few detonators, and more wire and gunpowder and scrap parts than any one person might know what to do with. “Where,” The Swede boggled quietly, “Where the hell was he keepin’ all this?” 

“Hey!” Junkrat called out, “You be careful with all that, yeah?” he made a frustrated sound and fidgeted hard enough that he twitched all over. “Look, at least tell us why the hell we’ve been kidnapped!” He paused and looked over at Hog. “And across international lines too. Hey that’s a new one!” 

The Hog just dropped his face into his hands and heaved a sigh heavy enough that the leather of the mask stretched faintly. 

“After all a’ that, if it’s about the reward I’m gonna be really disappointed,” Junkrat said, voice flat, eyeing their collection of confiscated trouble longingly. 

Jack watched them with steel eyes. “What were you doing for Talon? What do you know?” 

Junkrat bristled, eyes going hard and beady, long jaw tightening up. “Hey now! Like I’m just gonna tell a bunch a’ criminals like you anything! I may be a rat but I ain’t squealing!” 

“Shouldn’t he be the one squealin’, being a hog an’ all?” McCree needled, gesturing to the Hog in the cell next to him. 

Hog rumbled low and cracked his thick knuckles, the sound like grinding stones and popping marbles. Say it again, the blank mask challenged, I dare you. 

76 turned and glared furiously at McCree and mouthed a heated, _‘shut up!’_ at him before turning back to the cell. 

Junkrat sort of trembled and started giggling uncontrollably. “Ha! Squeal! Oh that’s funny, mate.” His expression quickly shifted subtly, an overexcited child to a manic blood thirst. “Though maybe if ya let me trash that bot there I’ll sing a little for ya.” 

“Bot? What bot—“ Winston frowned and turned, finding Junkrat’s unsettling, intense eyes focused on Zenyatta’s still form sitting in the corner. 

Zenyatta tilted his head, watching the Junker in the cell and said nothing. 

“Do not even look at him or I will cut you open from chin to groin,” Genji said, voice even and deadly serious. 

Zenyatta held up a hand, “Peace, Genji.” 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Shimada,” Morrison boggled at him, blue eyes wide and shocked. “You are not fucking helping me here.” 

Hanzo shared a worried look with McCree. Clearly Genji’s foot was still firmly lodged in his mouth and he hadn’t yet had time to try and extricate it. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Winston held up his hands, “Wait. What you said—we,” he hesitated, clearly confused, “Aren’t criminals?” 

Junkrat laughed outright, “Don’t sound so sure yourself, mate.” Then he blinked and looked at the Hog, “Is that a monkey? Am I fuckin’ crazy?” 

“Yes,” Hog said. 

“To which?” Junkrat wondered. 

Winston huffed, “I’m a scientist. And no, you’re not crazy. Or, well—look never mind that. But I mean what I said. We’re not criminals.” 

Junkrat peered at him, squinting with small black eyes and after a long moment uttered one word. “Wot?” 

“We’re the remains of an international task group called Overwatch, which was disbanded some years ago. Ah, we were the ones who initially brought an end to the first Omnic Crisis and ended multiple other global conflicts. We’ve come together once again to attempt to help solve some of the mounting issues around the world and first on our list for now is attempting to track down and bring an end to Talon, an international criminal organization. I believe the ones that hired you recently, yes?” 

Junkrat frowned, “Maybe.” 

Winston charged ahead, assured the flighty young man was listening. “We’ve been attempting to figure out their goals and endgame. Both because whatever it is I cannot imagine it’s going to be a good thing for… well anyone. They’ve also been targeting retired Overwatch operatives and killing them off. Whatever their goals are, we have to stop it from happening!” 

Junkrat was silent for a moment longer, peering at Winston and then turned to Morrison. “Look, you seem likes you have a better chance of being real.” His eyes darted off to Winston and back to Morrison. The scientist sighed and made a gesture of surrender. “You think I’m just gonna believe that load a’ shite then ya better start pullin’ out proof.” 

76 groans, “Christ. Athena, you mind displaying those pictures Fareeha was nice enough to send our way?” 

_“Of course, Commander.”_

Junkrat jumped at the AI’s voice but blinked rapidly as a series of pictures as brought up on holographic display. 

Morrison was watching the Junker closely. “These were sent from a contact of ours about Talon stockpiles they’ve seized lately under the guise of local gang activity. Arms, chemicals, tech. All stolen or smuggled in. Including—“ He waited for a moment as Athena brought up another set of images, this time of the concussive mine pieces they recovered and their reconstruction of the image they’d found on it. “Something that I think we can thank you for.” 

“Oh hey!” Junkrat said, recognizing it and then his face fell. “Oh hey. Blimey.” 

“Yeah,” Morrison crossed his arms, Athena shutting down the display. 

“No foolin’ now?” Junkrat crossed his arms, tapping his one foot against the floor, clearly thinking. Finally he turned and looked at his partner in crime. “Hog, tell it to me straight. Am I askin’ for this shit or am I just gullible?” 

Predictably, the Hog said nothing. 

“Harsh,” Junkrat said, shaking his head. “No beatin’ round the bush with you.” 

“So how about it?” McCree asked, ashing his cigar. “Got anything to say now?” 

Junkrat sighed and flopped down on the bench in the cell, irritated, and all the fight drained right out of him. “Look, I dunno anythin’ about plans. They just wanted me to make bombs.” He reached down into his pants for some hidden pocket and pulled out another concussive mine, “just like this one.” 

“Shit—“ 

_“Grab it!”_

Winston, Torbjörn, and Morrison all scrambled to get in there and take it from him, nearly piling on the tall junker to snatch the mine and hurry back out again. 

Junkrat looked a little like he’d been hit by a bus. 

Or a gorilla. 

Which— 

“How did he have another one?” Torbjörn nearly shouted, holding the explosive gingerly, looking a little like he’d been hit by a gorilla too. “Seriously! I spent forever makin’ sure I got all of ‘em!” 

Jack ignored him, trying to remain on task. “All that explosive has to have a purpose. What is it? What did they want your work for?” 

“No idea, mate,” Junkrat shrugged. “They paid well and just wanted a few prototypes from simple, unsophisticated materials. None a’ that expensive and hard-to-obtain shit. Was my only guideline. An’ they didn’t even want me to do any a’ the demolition meself! What a damn shame…” He shook his head, stopped and looked at Hog. “Come to think a’ it they didn’t really want any firepower. Just wanted concussive stuff.” He made a frustrated sound and did a full-body shimmy in his seat. “That’s so bleedin’ _borin’_ if ya ask me!” 

“You really expect me to believe that’s all you know of it?” Morrison asked, undeterred and unrelenting. “They had to tell you more than that or did you really just not ask questions?” 

Junkrat shrugged, “Gift horses, mate.” He tapped his chin, considering. “Look, I was jus’ doin them a service and gettin’ paid for the work, same as anyone who works a trade, yeah? You’d need someone else for more pointed questions. Someone in the know, ya see?” 

“And what about that, huh?” Morrison pressed, sensing blood in the water, knowing he was close. “What names could you give us?” 

Junkrat spent a moment considering again. “Well, I s’pose if ya want someone ya can single out that’ll know some shit than you’re gonna need _the Reaper_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, an additional note here.
> 
> I had mentioned it before, but right now, with Moira's release, it bears repeating. This fic was conceptualized and drafted waaaaaaaay back when Overwatch first released. The lore and universe it was built off of are at this point, out of date and wrong, but we're way too deep in to change now. Read into that what you will...
> 
> This also means that I'm not quite good enough a writer to add in the new characters, so no Ana, Sombra, Orisa, Doomfist, or Moira.


	28. Do or do not, but always try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is not a single bit a’ good news today, I swear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeey so. I'm alive. Sorry? 
> 
> It been a messy year so far, a few health complications, I moved, and then in the space of a month I lost both my little handicapped senior kitty and one of my ball pythons. It more or less killed my inspiration. 
> 
> Trying to recapture it now, so I come with two chapters at once as I try and get back into the rhythm of this fanfiction thing. 
> 
> So if you happen to be one of the people who've come back to read the latest of this? Thank you. 
> 
> Last time: The reforming Overwatch returned to the Watchpoint with wanted criminals Junkrat and Roadhog unwillingly in tow. After a short press for information, Junkrat revealed that the Ghost that had been giving the new Overwatch so much trouble was known as 'The Reaper'.

“The Reaper?” Morrison repeated, dubious. 

Junkrat nodded emphatically, “Yeah! Saw ‘im comin’ an’ goin’ as he pleased. Always like smoke though, was right weird if ya ask me.”

Winston stiffened and Reinhardt barely managed to get out a half-exuberant, “That’s the—!” before Torbjörn stomped hard on his foot to keep him quiet. Hanzo heard the creak of leather next to him and saw McCree’s eyes narrowed, gloved hand a tight fist. Morrison was impassible in that mask of his. “And you’re sure this… ‘Reaper’ is going to know more?”

“Oh sure. You want answers, that’s your guy.”

76 squared up, clearly focusing in to press for more information, but the interrogation ended rather suddenly when the Hog stood and set a heavy hand on Junkrat’s ever-smoldering head and said with finality: “He’s done talkin’.”

“I am?” Junkrat looked up as though he could see the meaty fingers atop his head and grinned. “Heh, guess I am!”

Morrison’s brow furrowed, the line between them deep like a fissure. “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

“Sorry, mate,” Junkrat shrugged. “I may make the rules but I also listen to good advice.”

Hog snorted. 

“What?” Junkrat struggled against the hand still on his head, “I do!”

Black mask squared off against the blank red visor. 

“He’s done,” The Hog repeated, and Junkrat crossed his arms, smug. 

“Well,” Winston said slowly, “Crud.”

\--

“Why the hell did you drag me out of there?” 76 growled. “Didn’t you hear? I wasn’t done.” 

They were all in the hall outside the brig, lined up like children on an excursion, debating what to do about this new roadblock. 

Winston sighed, “Look, I’m not sure you pushing him is going to achieve anything at this point. And I’m not going to let you try and rough him up to make him talk. I know your methods have started to look more like… like _his_.”

Morrison was quiet for a long moment; not the quiet of contemplation but the still before the storm. “You be _very_ careful what you say next.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything or anyone of—" The scientist shook his head. “Look, stop. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is we have something to work with, no matter whatever those two do or do not want to say; we have more than enough to work with. We need to find this Reaper, whoever and whatever it is.”

“S’the ghost isn’t it?” McCree said, and for all that he posed a question there was nothing wondering in his eyes. It may as well have been a statement of fact. “That’s this Reaper he was talkin’ about. That ghost that raided this Watchpoint ‘fore the recall, was in Egypt, and again in Hanamura.” His eyes flickered to Hanzo, clouded with memory and conflict. It had nearly done the both of them in. 

Winston nodded, “It seems likely that it is. Unless anyone else knows someone working for talon that can turn into smoke…”

“Is it really wise to just follow this blindly?” Hanzo said, concerned. “Junkrat may be the one Talon wanted and the ‘boss’ as far as the dynamic between those two is concerned but I’d say the Hog is the one that perceives a great deal more.”

“What are you getting at?” Morrison asked, voice clipped, his frustration palpable.

“He let Junkrat talk first,” Hanzo murmured. “He wanted us to hear that much before he interrupted.”

“That’s a fair point,” Winston agreed, reluctant. “And absentminded as Junkrat is there’s no telling about the Hog. He may have an agenda in all of this, we can’t assume that just because they’re working together they’re not after separate things.”

“What the hell can we even do about it if you won’t let me back in there,” Morrison growled. 

“The question you should be asking,” Zenyatta said, speaking up suddenly, “Is whether or not the answer matters.”

Reinhardt clapped a heavy hand on the slight Omnic’s shoulder, Genji’s posture nearby scrunching up further. “The monk is right!” He said, loud and decisive. “We have our lead, and to someone we have had such trouble with. We can lay this ghost of ours to rest one way or another. What else matters?”

“Another fair point,” Winston conceded. “We have a name and a lead… We know the target is highly dangerous but that it could very well be worth the risk of engagement. And…” The scientist went silent for a beat. “He was the reason I issued the Recall. He came here with Talon. Hunting identities and locations of former Overwatch operatives. He attempted to kill me in order to kill others.” His eyes closed, “I don’t want this to be over. I want to find him.”

“Okay, but,” Torbjörn pointed out, “How the hell do we find a ghost that could be anywhere?”

“Our favorite way, of course,” Morrison said, a snide edge to his words. “Isn’t that right, McCree, Genji?”

Hanzo glanced at McCree who was sharing a confused look with Genji’s visor. Then as one the two of the groaned and said, “Bait. Again.”

“Right,” Morrison agreed, grim and satisfied. 

“I hate you Jack,” McCree said around a particularly needy pull off his cigar. “I really goddamn hate you right now.” 

“It makes sense to lure a potential target in to deal with on your terms,” Hanzo agreed.

“Reduce the variables and possible outcomes,” Mei chimed in. 

“And hey, it’s worked once,” Morrison finished, vindictive and snarky. 

“What the heck do we _use_ as bait though,” Winston said. “I mean what can we even offer that would tempt out someone as deep into Talon as this Reaper is?”

Zenyatta leaned forward a bit, fingers sliding together to interlock over his lap, “Another simple question. You can only use what we have and what we know this Reaper wants. The answer to both, is _us_.”

Winston’s mouth opened, closed, and then set into a grim determined line.

McCree sighed, “There is not a single bit a’ good news today, I swear.”

\--

Their way forward was decided, but they needed to tread lightly. As Winston himself said, unwilling to budge, “Athena and I will run every possible scenario before we send anyone out to attempt this. I won’t have any of my people get hurt when good preparation will prevent it.”

To which Tracer teased him about being a mother hen, concerned about his ducklings.

Then Winston feebly protested that didn’t even make _sense_.

To Hanzo it was all very confusing. 

Truth be told as their discussion wound down—Winston disappearing off to his lab, Reinhardt and Torbjörn returning to make sure the Bastion Unit hadn’t blown a hole in the armory, Mei heading to the infirmary to speak with Dr. Ziegler, and 76 skulking off the practice gallery to shoot something—Hanzo was watching as Zenyatta bowed shallowly to the group and turned to leave. Genji watched the monk, hands fisted, and turned and departed the opposite direction.

Hanzo sighed and murmured to McCree, “I can’t believe what I am about to do.”

\--

Hanzo waited up on one of catwalks with a clear view of the sea. The Mediterranean was beautiful. Usually warm and pleasant, and today was no exception as the afternoon wore late and golden across the quiet Watchpoint. He’d been sitting for only a matter of minutes before he heard soft, even steps, rubber tread on metal and finally listened as the steps pause at the top of the stairs. He turned and found Zenyatta, the Omnic watching him uncertainly, head tilted in a faint outward expression of curiosity. 

“I had not expected to find you here,” Zenyatta said and there was a question veiled there, an offer to retreat should Hanzo wish for continued solitude.

Hanzo bowed his head slightly in greeting—Zenyatta returning the gesture—feeling a sense of Déjà vu, remembering Hanamura and being taken unawares by the Omnic there. This time, though, the tables were turned. 

“I was actually hoping I might catch you coming up here,” He explained. “I know sometimes you meditate with a view of the ocean.”

Zenyatta chuckled softly, radiating amusement and came and settled next to Hanzo, folding easily into a lotus position, and the archer would swear he was floating just inches off the floor. “Well we have found each other here then. What is it that you are seeking?”

Hanzo drummed his fingers, far less peaceful than the monk beside him. “It’s… about Genji,” He began, hesitant but blunt. 

“Ah,” Zenyatta made a sound of understanding. “His state of discord bothers you.”

“Does it not bother you?” Hanzo asked, careful. “He is feeling so troubled because of your anger.”

Zenyatta sighed, the sound entirely manufactured from feeling and his head bowed forward, “I was never angry with him. How could I be when his outburst came from a place of fear and worry, and one that, if I am honest, was not entirely unwarranted? I was waiting to see—hoping—that he would approach me in an effort to work past it. Your brother trusts me implicitly but occasionally he still stumbles. He has made such progress in himself, but it breaks my heart every time he falters.”

Hanzo huffed a sigh of his own, because of course as soon as he tried to do something right by Genji things were far more tangled than he’d thought. “Of course that is the way of it. I don’t know why I bothered.”

“Mm,” Zenyatta made a gentle noise of consideration, “Is the attempt not important for the sake of itself?”

Hanzo shook his head, “Trying means nothing. There is only success and failure. I have known my share of both.” His voice trailed off, growing bitter. 

“Respectfully, I am going to disagree with you.” Zenyatta’s head was canted towards him, watching. “Trying, attempting, are just as worthwhile, and just as worth praising.”

“How? What does it matter if you try if it amounts to nothing? I came up here to—” He faltered a bit, “I do not even know. Spend kind words on a stranger bearing my brother’s name. I don’t know what I thought to achieve.”

“You came up here,” Zenyatta began, voice steady and seeping in like a tide, “Because you saw Genji’s turmoil, and regardless of the rift that sits raw and half-wrought between you still, some part of you was moved to do something about it, to attempt to offer aid and peace. And that, after all else, is worth everything.” 

“I—" Hanzo felt like he should have something to say for himself in this space of silence, but the words fled his tongue. 

“In light of all the struggle and strife between you as brothers, the choice here, the _attempt_ is just as important and just as worth of praise. That you would try for him in this small way means so much. Whether in success or in failure, the decision to try, making that choice to do so, is just as worth giving yourself credit for.”

“Then why did you not make it? You say you were hoping he would seek you out, by your own words. What is the importance of that choice then, if they are all so important?” Hanzo pressed, not entirely believing him. 

“He is my student yet, and for all his growth there is still some he has left to learn. I am using this as a moment of instruction, a teaching moment, if you will. There is something very important I wanted Genji to learn from this,” Zenyatta said, and only the faint, silent tick of one finger against the worn saffron cloth of his pants betrayed some sort of inner conflict. 

“And that is?”

“He needs to know he is allowed to make mistakes and ask for forgiveness. He forgives others more easily now. Though he works for it still he has let go of so much of his lingering discord. But there is struggle in him still when he is admitting his own fault, and doubts if his actions can be forgiven. When he falters and fails, he brings that failure forward head hanging and waiting to be reprimanded. I remind him time and time again that it does not have to be so.”

Hanzo looked back out at the sea, far below the cliffs so that the ceaseless shift and churn of the water was barely a glittering shimmer. “You love him. You’re in love, I mean.” Hanzo said and he didn’t rear away from the realization like startled animal, because it felt like something deep and inevitable now; meeting his brother again, watching him, seeing and hearing how he orbits this Omnic Master he’s fallen in line for. Stars turn in the heavens, plates shift in the earth, Zenyatta loved his brother.

And Zenyatta, for his part, didn’t offer any denial, accepting his statement like debris toppling into a river and becoming part of the current. “I do. For years now. But because of the nature of our relationship, what little power it could be claimed I have over him, I cannot ask him for anything. This must be his choice, and there is still so much he does not know how to communicate or to ask for. Even something so simple as forgiveness for an outburst.”

Hanzo nodded, having nothing with which he felt as though he could add. 

“And Hanzo?” Zenyatta spoke again.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for asking.”

Hanzo fought off a faint smile, gaze dropping down to his lap. Choice matters, the attempt matters. Maybe he hadn’t succeeded in what he’d halfheartedly set out to do, but perhaps something else was accomplished regardless. “May I ask you something?”

Zenyatta nodded, clearly pleased that their conversation could continue. “Of course. You may ask me anything.”

“How did you ever get—get my brother to calm so?” He wondered, tripping only slightly as he forced the words out. “He was such a rambunctious child and teenager. However did you manage to find any measure of serenity in the boy who released a box of frogs during a religious ceremony because the head monk of our family’s temple had scolded him for running indoors?”

Zenyatta laughed softly, his shoulders shaking in mirth. “He can be so terribly stubborn and troublesome at times. A trait I believe to be familial.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not,” Zenyatta agreed, clearly amused. “I will gladly tell you, but perhaps I can show you instead. Will you meditate with me awhile?”

Hanzo blinked and nodded, shifting around into a lotus. He winced a little at the stretch in his legs and ankles, the pose one he had not affected in a decade, but held steady. He glanced over, copying Zenyatta’s posture and closed his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath. 

The golden sunlight fell across him, warming him all over. But maybe it wasn’t just the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter wasn't super eventful, more character interaction, but it was very cathartic for me to write. Slight plot advancement next chapter. Woo. 'Preciate you.


	29. It's Not Exactly a Training Montage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Commander Morrison is... exacting,” Hanzo said diplomatically. 
> 
> “Jack’s a right arsehole about mission stuff,” Tracer said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter I'm posting as sort of a goodwill thing. Still sorry for the absence. 
> 
> Brief recap since these were posted together:
> 
> Knowing they need to go after the Reaper, they go ahead with planning how to lure him out. Hanzo goes to Zenyatta, attempting to speak about Genji's visible discord, but learns a little something himself.

“So,” Hanzo said slowly, he and Tracer watching from the upper level as Winston hurried back and forth across his lab, “Is he… well?”

The scientist was dressed down to a simple full-suit, his jump rockets and helmet sitting on the rack in the corner of the lab with his Tesla Cannon, and he moved around, sorting papers and juggling two tablets between his hands and his feet, looking over something that had his full attention. 

“You know,” Tracer said, just as slowly, “I don’t know. Big Guy’s worked himself up into a tizzy over somethin’ that’s for sure.”

_“Winston’s physical state is within acceptable margins,”_ Athena chimed in, causing them both to jump a bit. Hanzo always forgot about the AI.

“What’s he doing though?” Tracer wondered, directing her question to Athena. 

“I’m right here you know,” Winston muttered, petulant, sipping from a long-cold cup of coffee.

_“He’s being moody,”_ Athena responded and Tracer giggled when the scientist rolled his eyes. 

“Oh ha ha. I’m almost done laying out the groundwork for what we’re going to do about Junkrat’s ‘Reaper’ character.” Winston said. “I had hoped to finish today.”

It had been four days since they returned from King’s Row with two internationally wanted criminals, and pressed them for information about Talon. Since then, Winston had been cooped up in his lab, working long hours fueled by only peanut butter, coffee, and the occasional banana, doing _something_ to the purpose of getting them closer to this Ghost that kept plaguing them. 

“Should you really be drinking that?” Tracer asked, doubting, gesturing broadly to the cup in Winston’s foot that he was taking a long swig from.

He blinked, “This? It’s a little cold but—“

“Winston,” She said patiently, “You’re a gorilla.”

“Oh, right. That.” He squinted over his glasses at the mug and then shrugged. “Haven’t died yet. What are you two doing here anyway? This isn’t a spectator sport. This is the future of Overwatch I’m working on.”

“Tracer said she needed my help with something,” Hanzo said slowly, trailing off and glanced at the slight British woman. 

“Little bit bored,” Tracer admitted.

“So,” Hanzo continued, “What are we doing about the Ghost? Reaper?”

“Oh!” Winston blinked and straightened, setting the mug aside. “Right, it would be good for you to know that. We’ll have an official briefing when we’re closer, but it’s always good to have more heads to bounce ideas from.”

_“I do not have a head,”_ Athena said, sounding just the faintest bit snarky. 

Winston just sighed, “And my assistant is tired of me. Apparently. I’ll get the Commander in here later to run things by him too, but well…” He trailed off, wincing faintly. 

“Commander Morrison is... exacting,” Hanzo said diplomatically. 

“Jack’s a right arsehole about mission stuff,” Tracer said, and before anyone could respond to _that_ she blinked and was suddenly down in the middle of the lab with Winston. “Let’s see what ya have so far, Big Guy.”

Winston nodded and called, “Athena! Please go ahead and queue up all the footage!”

A wall of monitors nearby came to life and began playing short clips of video. Hanzo saw bits of his first day there in Gibraltar, that first morning he’d arrived, the small group that had assembled eating the massive breakfast Tracer had made, Reinhardt, Lúcio, Winston, and McCree all at the table in the mess. He saw Symmetra and Reinhardt, probably right after the two had returned from Europe with the Bastion Unit it tow, a moment he never witnessed in person, seeing the Indian architect lead the odd robot into the Watchpoint with flitting birds made of glimmering hardlight, the Omnic war machine following after them in clear wonder. Briefly, she wondered how she was doing.

He saw—all of them. Commander Morrison addressing them in his red visor, Dr. Zhou’s arrival, Torbjörn yelling something to a laughing Reinhardt, Genji and Zenyatta going through slow katas—some form of tai chi or yoga perhaps—and the two of them resolutely ignoring Lúcio and Tracer behind them trying and failing to make the same movements. He saw himself in the practice gallery with McCree and Tracer, and remembered that lost bet all over again, the footage bringing both shame and warmth to his chest. 

“What’s all this?” Tracer asked, voice soft with the same strange emotion. 

“It’s footage I collected from around Gibraltar. Ah, sorry about all the cameras, after that first attack from Talon before the recall… Well I wasn’t taking chances.” Winston shrugged, “I had Athena curate clips that show how many of us are here and specifically most of all the old members of Overwatch that have answered the Recall.” He grappled for the coffee cup again. “ _This_ is going to be our bait.”

“You weren’t kiddin’ about us as bait,” Tracer said, Hanzo nodding along.

“I had thought that perhaps it would be something similar to what we did in King’s Row,” He murmured. “This is something else entirely.”

“I had been debating launching the recall for some time,” Winston explained, “And always thought better of it.”

_“I thought better of it,”_ Athena interjected.

“Right,” Winston amended. “She made me think better of it. But then the Watchpoint was attacked by Talon soldiers and by that Ghost. They nearly killed me, and they came…” He trailed off, “Frighteningly close to killing Athena. I probably should’ve left after that, relocated, but,” His shoulders slumped, “I had nowhere else to go. So! I doubled down on Gibraltar. I did everything I could to make the Watchpoint look completely abandoned incase Talon snooped about again. But this,” he nodded to the footage playing, “I’m going to leak it, essentially. Not something crazy like broadcast it worldwide, but loosen precise sections of my firewalls and security, essentially. If Talon are looking for us—And there’s no way that troublesome Ghost isn’t—then they’ll see it and nothing else.” 

He reached over and lifted a beacon off his desk, half-buried under peanut butter jar lids, “I have this beacon set to the _old_ Overwatch frequency, the last one we used when Overwatch was still in operation. It’ll be one that I _know_ Talon will be listening too. If that Reaper still wants Overwatch, then he’s going to know and he’s going to try and come for us.”

“And all of us will be ready to spring the trap,” Hanzo finished, nodding. 

“You sure you want to out the operation here though, Big Guy?” Tacer said, a bit uncertain. “I mean if we’re safe here is that worth sacrificing that to go after this Reaper?”

Winston made a soft sound of acknowledgement. “I debated that too. Talon has already found me here once though, I knew when I stayed it was borrowed time. By tipping them off in a controlled way I can ensure several things. First is that if we do manage to lure in the Reaper that it’s on our terms. It’s a controlled setting, or as controlled as we can make it, and thus as safe as we can make it, and we’ve lost to him before.”

Hanzo nodded grimly, remembering his own capture in Egypt, remembering Hanamura. “A good point. We have a bad track record with him taking us unawares.”

Winston nodded, grim, “Exactly. But the idea of controlling the situation is two-fold. It’s not only this encounter that I get to have come security in, it allows me to prepare for them going forward as well. I’ll know what Talon will know of us. I won’t have to wonder if I’ve slipped somewhere.” His shoulders slumped, “I don’t want that to happen. More than anything. This Recall, this reconstruction of Overwatch as an institution internationally for good is the most important thing in this world to me. I can’t bungle this.”

“Ya won’t,” Tracer nudged Winston’s shoulder. “Don’t forget, it ain’t just you anymore. Got all of us. We’ll make sure this works. I trust you, Winston. Ya know I always have.” Tracer shot Hanzo a look then, one that near-shouted _‘Back me up here!’_

Hanzo nodded firmly, the strange, blooming feeling in his chest again, that swell of comraderie and loyalty. Something greater than himself, and every one of these people he found himself with worth it. “I do as well.”

The words did their job and the scientist nearly melted, lower lip wibbling a bit, “Aw, guys. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Worry about what you’ll say to Jack,” Hanzo advised. “And to the rest of Overwatch.”

Spirits bolstered, Winston nodded firmly. “Also good points. Probably should fine tune things. I also need to plan exactly what sort of measures we’ll have waiting here at the Watchpoint when we get our Ghost. Though—“ He cut off, considering a second. “Maybe we should have the meeting early.”

_“You never want to have a briefing unprepared,”_ Athena said.

“No, but… they reminded me that this is a team we’ve got here. I can create a strategy or plan of attack and run it by Jack, but it might be better if this is something everyone contributes and builds together. I wasn’t there for the major encounter with the Reaper in Hanamura and I have no footage, just comm recordings. Better to get it from all of you.”

“If they have been half as bored as I am they will thank you,” Tracer said, bouncing a bit on her feet. 

“You and McCree were the ones I think who got the closest, right?” Winston said and Tracer nodded. “I should definitely go over things with the both of you then. Uh, where is McCree anyway?” Winston asked and both he and Tracer turned to look at Hanzo in question. 

He frowned, self-conscious, telling himself there was no reason for his face to feel hot. “What? Why do you assume I’d know anything about that?”

“Well,” Winston started, diplomatic, “You two have been, uh—“

“—joined at the hip,” Tracer finished. 

Hanzo rolled his eyes, face getting hotter. “Well that doesn’t mean that I automatically know where he is on base. The Watchpoint is a large place.”

“I didn’t hear a ‘no’,” Tracer teased.

Hanzo sighed, “He had guard duty on our two criminals on first shift this morning. He should have been replaced by Reinhardt by now, and will likely be in the Practice Range or up on the catwalks smoking.” He shrugged a bit with one shoulder, “Or he’s asleep.”

Tracer’s answering grin was entirely too knowing, “Called it.”

Hanzo turned his nose up and ignored her.

“Well either way sounds like it’s time to get everyone together and do some good old fashioned brainstorming!” he rubbed his hands together, his grin entirely too enthusiastic for the circumstances. “I do love a good problem solving session!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again everyone. This all wasn't much, but I'm gonna try and keep rolling.

**Author's Note:**

> /nervous waving.


End file.
